Another Journey: Return of the King
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: The worlds have collided, action has begun, and now we see our three heroes thrown into the final days of the War of the Ring. Sequel to "Another War", based on LittleGreenFae's "Another World, Another War". Some romance, but mostly epic adventure story.
1. Minas Tirith

**(AN: And now, we come to it at last... "Another Journey...Return of the King". I would like to thank the person who alone has reviewed. Glad somebody likes these. Here we get a lot more action and deviation from the main film story. Don't worry, it's all good. Prepare for the climactic conclusion...)**

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><p><strong>Minas Tirith<strong>

The huge mountain of white stone rose from the bones of the mountains from whence it was carved. Yet no mountain was this, but a great city, built upon seven levels, with a great keel of stone running down the middle, where stood the White Tower.

This was Minas Tirith.

Set against this was the White Rider, an almost insignificant speck of light against the mammoth city. It rode up to the city gates, where the guards, who knew him, stood at attention.

"Mithrandir!" one of the guards shouted. "Now we know the worst has come."

"Yes, the storm is breaking," Gandalf said, panting. "I have ridden upon his wake. Now let me pass! I must speak with the Steward while his stewardship still stands!"

The guards heaved open the giant doors of iron and steel, and without another word, the White Rider rode on into the city. Up the seven levels the horse went, to the very top of the citadel, upon the courtyard that was the top of the keel.

Here, the White Wizard let the guards take Shadowfax down to the stables and removed Pippin from off his back. That done, the Wizard removed his tall-peaked white hat and set it upon the ground. He passed his white staff over it, and it was gone.

Where the hat had once been, there was now Glinda from Gilikin. She was wind-swept, her curls hung about her all in a mess, and she was shivering violently.

"Get up." Gandalf said, taking her arm by the hand and lifting her to her feet. "We've arrived in Minas Tirith."

"I thought," Glinda said through chattering teeth. "I didn't want you...turning me...into anything!"

"When that Nazgul passed over Cair Andros," Gandalf said. "I had no choice. You're not exactly good at blending in."

"What about me?" Pippin said. "If she was turned into something, why wasn't I?"

"Because Hobbits are better at hiding than Men..." he then turned to Glinda. "Or women."

She frowned a little, but was not shivering anymore. The sun beat down upon the stone on which they stood, and it warmed her.

"I must speak with the Steward of this city," Gandalf said. "You, Miss Glinda, must wait my return here in the courtyard."

"Wait, why I can't I go with you?" she inquired. "I was dragged around as your hat, shouldn't I be allowed to see what's going on? I'm not stupid, you know!"

Pippin tried to stifle a laugh, which Gandalf heard and hit him none too gently with his staff.

"You will be introduced to the Steward upon the appropriate time." he said. "Now is not the time. Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, by now must know of the loss of his son Boromir. Therefore he is grieving, and it would be most unwise to have too many guests in his presence. Please, wait out here."

"What about Pippin?" she asked, pointing to the Hobbit.

"Master Took will not say anything, will you?" Gandalf replied.

"I won't?"

"Especially of Boromir's death or Aragorn."

"Why? I thought Strider was going to come here as it was."

The two argued all the way to the door. Glinda was left to slump down upon the warm pavement.

Once again, feeling like baggage thrown aside.

Bored with sitting there, she decided to stroll over to the edge of the stone keel and look out upon the city, which she had not been able to see as a hat.

She gasped, though out of true amazement than her usual girlish "ooo-ing." The city was huge. Seven levels, all of them big enough to hold all of Shiz and the Emerald City easily, with room to spare.

At the end of the last level, there stretched out the farmlands and pasture-fields between Minas Tirith and the River. This was the fields of Pelennor, but the farms had long-been abandoned with the threat of war.

Beyond the Pelennor, she saw the River, snaking a border at the farthest end of Gondor's land. Upon the river sat the ruins of Osgiliath, what had once been the great capital city of the kingdom of Gondor, when there was still a king. Beyond that, set as a dark shadow on the furthermost reaches of the east, were the black mountains that served as the barrier between Gondor...

And Mordor.

Fear drove her eyes away from the east, and towards the south. There, set far away, nestled almost beyond view and yet just able to be spotted, was a sight that Glinda had never seen in all of her days.

The sea.

There was no sea in Oz, for the lands were surrounded by desert. It mesmerized her, to be able to hear, though far off and faint, the calling of gulls and the roar of the sea, though now it was but a whisper on the edge of the horizon.

* * *

><p>After several more minutes, she heard the opening of the doors of the citadel.<p>

Gandalf and Pippin were coming back out. The Wizard was not pleased.

"...and the White Tree, the Tree of the King, will never bloom again." he said.

"Why are they still guarding it?" Pippin asked.

"They guard it because they have hope, a faint and fading hope, that one day it will flower. That the King will return and this city will be as it once was."

"Why is hope faint and fading?" Glinda asked.

"Because the heir of Gondor refuses to accept his lineage." Gandalf said, walking up to the edge of the keel to stand at the edge with Glinda, with Pippin behind them. "And unless he accepts his responsibility, there will be no hope for men."

"How did this happen?" Glinda asked.

"This city?" Gandalf said, indicating to Minas Tirith. "The ancient wisdom born out of the West faded. Old kings sat in cold towers, musing on heraldry, asking questions of the stars, counting the names of their ancestors as more dear than the names of their sons, and building tombs for the dead greater than houses for the living. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin, the Line of Kings failed, the White Tree withered and the rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."

There was a moment of silence, as Pippin and Glinda, children in spirit if not in body, looked with wonder upon the lands beyond the city.

"Mordor." whispered Pippin.

"Yes, there it lies." Gandalf said. "Ever has this city resided under the shadow of Mordor." The Wizard's eyes looked up to the black clouds rising over the dark land.

"A storm is coming." Pippin said.

"This is not the weather of the world," Gandalf said. "This is a device of Sauron's making: a broil of fume he sends ahead of his host. The orcs of Mordor have no love for the sun, and so he covers the sun to speed their passage along the road...to war. When the shadow reaches the city, it will begin."

Glinda had a fearful look on her face, and she turned her gaze to the south, trying to think of happier things. How could he think that this city, the forefront of this terrible war, was safe?

"Where are we off to next?" Pippin said, with a cheery expression on his face. Glinda hoped that they were going. With that dark shadow upon the horizon, she did not feel safe at all.

"Oh, it's too late for that." Gandalf said. "There's no leaving this city. Help must come to us."

She slumped against the low stone railing, looking out upon the southwest hopefully, looking for some kind of hope.

"The sea," Gandalf said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. "Have they no sea where you come from?"

"No." Glinda said, shaking her head.

"The sea calls us home," Gandalf said. "It was upon the western sea that Numenor, the land where the men of Gondor came from, once lived. And beyond lies Valinor, the home of the Valar, the Undying Lands."

Glinda smiled.

"The Elves heeded the call of Valinor ages ago," Gandalf said. "But they came out of the West to aid Numenor in their war against Sauron. Now they are returning home, or they will fall with the rest of Middle Earth."

"What if we win this war?" Glinda asked, trying to hope for something good.

"Win?" Gandalf chuckled. "You are optimistic beyond belief, Miss."

"There's no such thing as no hope." she said, playfully obstinate.

Gandalf smiled, looking out to the West.

"If Sauron is defeated," Gandalf said. "Then I fear that the Power of the Elves will be broken. They must then make the choice, whether to remain here in Middle Earth, fading away into obscurity, or travel into the West."

Glinda noticed that Gandalf looked upon something on his hand that looked like an orb of fire that was gleaming silently.

"And now," he said, walking towards the stairs. "I must see to Shadowfax. The people of Gondor know how to care for horses, but they have not the skill of the Rohirrim."

"What about us?" Glinda asked.

"Well, Master Peregrin has decided to become a vassal to the Steward of Gondor. As for you, well, your case will be decided tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The next day found Glinda in the house that Gandalf and Pippin had been given for their stay in Minas Tirith. She did not sleep all that night, for the night now seemed cold and fearful. Then there was that flash of light shining from the mountains of the Black Land at midnight, a place Gandalf called Minas Morgul. She could not sleep afterward, nor was there much sleep that morning.<p>

Osgiliath was under attack.

All the people sat upon the walls, eager to see what had happened to the garrison. Though she could see little, Glinda saw a white speck ride out to meet the routed garrison, now being pursued by flying things that gave screeches that rent her heart in two and drove all hope from her heart.

But then the White speck drove them away, leading the defenders into the city.

Glinda was rejoicing at what she saw, prancing about the room, when there came a knock at the door. She opened, and a very stern-looking Gondorian stood in the door.

"I am Beregond, of the Tower Guard," he announced. "Mithrandir, the one you know as Gandalf, sent me to tell you that the Steward expects your arrival shortly."

She wore still the blue travel dress and Elvish cloak she had worn with the Fellowship, and had her staff with her. There hadn't been any reason to change, since she hadn't slept all that night. Now she followed Beregond up the levels of the city to the Citadel.

The doors were opened, and she found herself in a huge hall, greater than the Wizard's throne room had been. It was of white and black marble, with many recesses in the hall. In those stood statues of long-dead Kings of Gondor. At the farthest end of the hall there was a dais upon which sat a high throne, and a low seat sat at the left hand of the throne, below the dais. Upon that seat there sat an old man robed in black.

"My lord," Beregond said, bowing before the Steward. "I bring to you the stranger who traveled with Mithrandir."

The Steward raises his eyes before the young woman and at length spoke.

"Who are you and where do you come from?" he said.

"I am Glinda Upland," she began. "Of the Upper Uplands of Gilikin, in the north of the land of Oz, if you please. The ga..."

"I know of no such place," the Steward said. "Are you friend or foe of Gondor?"

"I come in peace." she said after thinking over his answer.

The Steward grumbled slightly. "Why does Mithrandir bring a woman to the Tower of Guard? Are we not at war?"

"Indeed we are," Glinda jumped. She saw Gandalf was standing casually to one side, leaning upon his staff. "And I implore that you send the women and children away from the city. Send them to Belfalas, or Lebennin, where they might be safe from the coming storm."

"Better to die sooner than later," the Steward said.

"My lord Denethor," another man said. Glinda saw someone who reminded her much of Boromir. "Mithrandir is right. We should send the people away from the City before the enemy attacks us. At least send out messengers to Dol Amroth. Prince Imrahil would welcome our people in their time of need."

"I did not ask for your opinion, Faramir," the Steward said. "Nor do I desire it. The people will stay here."

"But father..."

"This city has stood for three thousand years!" Denethor roared at Faramir. "I will not dishonor the name of Minas Tirith by sending the people to hide in the mountains, prolonging the inevitable." He sighed, unwilling to continue. Without turning to Glinda, he held up a hand in her direction.

"Do as you will. Now go."

She bowed and made her way out of the throne room, with Gandalf coming up after her.

"Was that his son?" she whispered, referring to Faramir.

"Yes," Gandalf said. "Yes, Faramir is the son of the Steward of Gondor, as was Boromir of our Company."

Glinda said nothing. She saw something different about Faramir than Boromir. In fact, she even wondered if he would respond to her differently than he did.

It seemed to take forever for whatever was being spoken to finish, and Glinda was getting impatient.

"What's going on in there?" she asked.

"Faramir is the Captain of the garrison of Ithilien." Gandalf said. "As a servant to his lord, he must report the loss of Osgiliath, and all other goings-on, to his master."

Glinda nodded.

A minute later, Faramir left the hall. There was a sad expression on his face.

"Faramir," Gandalf said. "I hope your life is not forefit for letting the Ringbearer free."

The Man shook his head.

"What, Ringbearer?" Glinda asked. "Do you mean the hobbits? Frungo and Slam?"

"Frodo and Sam." Gandalf corrected.

"Right! Those two!"

"The Steward is merciful, for now." Faramir said, with a down-cast expression.

"He did not give leave for the people to leave the city?"

Faramir shook his head.

"Then I must leave you," Gandalf said. "The mustering of Gondor's armies is my duty if the Steward refuses his charge."

"Start at Dol Amroth," Faramir suggested. "Imrahil will be the most willing to aid our cause."

Gandalf nodded and then departed. Once the Wizard was gone, Glinda made a sad sigh.

"Something troubles you, my lady?" Faramir asked.

"I feel like such useless baggage," she said. "I've been carried across your world, through mines and forests and rivers and plains and Oz knows what else!"

"My brother used to say that women have no place in battle," Faramir said. "You must be tired, should I send for Beregond to find you some food?"

"I'd like that," Glinda said. "But I want to ask you something."

"Anything."

"When did you first meet Flippo and Scram?"

"Uh, I think you mean Frodo and Sam."

"Yes, those two! When did you meet them?"

"Not but two days ago, in Ithilien," Faramir repeated. "They wandered into our patrol when we were stalking a group of Haradrim." Upon seeing Glinda's expression, he concluded that she didn't know about them. "Wicked men of the south, they worship the Nameless One, the dark lord of Mordor, as though he were a god."

She nodded in realization.

"I asked them something of their journey," he continued. "I recall when he mentioned the company. 'Ten companions...one we lost in Moria.' Obviously, he knows not of Mithrandir's return from the dark home of the Dwarves. 'Two were my kin...' One of which, I assume, is my father's new Guard of the Citadel. 'A Dwarf, there was also, and an Elf.' From what I can recall, Dwarves and Elves never walk in company together, so this is a strange thing. 'Five of the race of men: two women, one of them green.'" He turned to Glinda. "You had a companion with you, a green woman?"

"Yes," Glinda said. "Elphaba, of...uh...daughter of...uh, the governor of Munchkinland!" She said, trying to make her friend's name sound important like those of the people she had encountered here.

"Was she indeed green?"

"Well, she had green skin. Oh, she was born that way."

"I see." Faramir nodded. "The others Frodo named were 'Fiyero, prince of the Vinkus', 'Strider, a Ranger of the North', and 'Boromir of Gondor.' Can you tell me anything of them?"

"Well, Fiyero is Elphaba's lover."

"You mean they are wed?"

Glinda made an uncomfortable face. Technically, the two hadn't officially announced their union, though it should be obvious to anyone that they were a couple. They deserved each other.

"I guess so."

"And you?"

She smiled. He was obviously rather charming, despite reminding her of his proud brother.

"I'm spoken for." she said, holding up the silver token she received from Legolas.

"Just as well," Faramir said. "I fear I would prefer a woman who could keep up with me on the hunt or on horseback. Oh, no offense."

"None taken," Glinda said. "I guess I am a little too girlish. I don't like hunting, or riding on horseback."

She rubbed her side, the memory of the first few miles through Anorien before being turned into Gandalf's hat still fresh in her mind.

"So what happened to Freedo and Spam?"

Faramir chuckled. "Frodo and Sam told me something of their mission, that they could not be halted." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I chose to let them go. They made for Imlad Morgul, against my wishes."

"What is that?" Glinda asked.

"The valley where Minas Morgul sits." Faramir explained. "No one has ever gone that way since Earnur, the last king of Gondor, went in answer to the challenge of the Witch-king of Angmar. He never came back. It is rumored that there is a pass in Imlad Morgul, a place of death and darkness and fear..." He shuddered.

"What is it?"

"I shall not darken the daylight with a report of Cirith Ungol." he said. "It is said that even the orcs of Mordor fear that place, though no truth is in that rumor."

Glinda smiled weakly, hoping that whatever evil waited in that terrible valley would be avoided by the hobbits.

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><p><strong>(AN: In case you were wondering, I based the exchange with Denethor around scenes from the film "Der Untergang". The main reason being, in the book, the women, children and old have already been ushered out of Minas Tirith by the time of the siege, and yet they are still there, being victimized, in the film. I thought I'd try to explain it a bit, though it definitely demonizes Denethor. Anyway, hope you enjoy this rather short chapter. And Glinda's going to have a bigger role in this one than in the others, just keep reading)<strong>


	2. The Muster of Rohan

**(AN: Here we go with the second chapter. In the last one, I thought, since Faramir ends up with Eowyn, the blond shield-maiden woman, he wouldn't object to women fighting or such. Here we see the culmination of Halbarad's importance and the Westernesse blade subplots: also, Elphaba has a very important role in this part. Enjoy)**

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><p><strong>The Muster of Rohan<strong>

It was early morning in Edoras.

In the great hall of Meduseld, Fiyero was sparring with Erkenbrand, lord of the Westfold. He had left the restoration of Helm's Deep in capable hands, and returned to Edoras with the victory party. Today would be his last day in the Golden Hall before he returned to his own hall at Upborn.

Elphaba stood to one side with Eomer and Eowyn as they watched the proceedings. The king sat on his throne, doing his kingly duties.

Suddenly, the doors burst open.

"The beacons of Minas Tirith!" Aragorn shouted, out of breath, as he stumbled into the hall. "The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

There was silence in the hall. Elphaba, at least, knew that King Theoden still had his doubts over going to the aid of Gondor, and she didn't blame him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the King spoke.

"And Rohan will honor our pledge." he said. "Gamling, muster the Rohirrim!"

"Yes, my lord!" the old man bowed and left the hall.

Within moments, all was in readiness for war.

Every able-bodied man was arming themselves for war. Weapons were being sharpened, horses brought out of the stables, helms placed upon heads.

At the Golden Hall, Theoden was already in his armor, giving orders to his commanders.

"Erkenbrand," he began. "Take Grimbold and ride to the Westfold. As many able-bodied men as can be spared. We will assemble the army at Dunharrow."

"Yes, my lord." the large man said.

"Gamling," he added. "Make haste across the Riddermark. Summon everyone ready and able for battle to assemble at Dunharrow."

"I will, my lord." the old man said, bowing before he left.

"Nephew, your charge is the Eastfold." he ordered. "As many as can be found. You have two days." He put a hand on Eomer's shoulder. "On the third, we ride for Gondor...and war."

Behind them, the two Ozians followed Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli as they made their way down the steps to the stables, where they were preparing their horses. Elphaba's black horse, which she named Nessarose, was ready and saddled. Fiyero had a chestnut, which he had yet to name. He was now fully dressed, and clad in armor similar to that which he wore at Helm's Deep.

"Fae, you know you'll need armor." Fiyero said to his love.

"Plenty of time for that when we've reached Dunharrow." she said. Then, turning to Aragorn, she asked: "What is that, anyway?"

"It is a mountain pass," he said. "It is well-defensible, for the only way up is a winding path that is open to assault from the cliffs above. Further down that pass is..." He said no more, simply staring off towards the White Mountains to the south.

Minutes later, the Sons of Elrond and those Rangers who had survived Helm's Deep had joined them, all ready for battle and armed. Just then, they noticed someone else had joined them as well.

"Excuse me?" Merry asked. "I don't want to be left behind. I'd sure wish to come with them, at least as a knight of Rohan, or a squire or something. But I haven't got a sword."

"What about that Noldorin dagger the Lady Galadriel gave you?" Elphaba asked.

"I'm afraid those dastardly orcs took it from me the day Boromir died," Merry said sadly. "Pippin's too. A shame. Those were good daggers, them."

Aragorn then knelt down at the Hobbit's side and drew out from his coat a dagger that glistened red in the sun.

"I was keeping this for a special time," he said, drawing out Halbarad's dagger. "But I can think of no better time than now to bestow it."

Merry hugged Aragorn, and then, as fast as his little wooly feet could carry him, he ran back up the stairs and presented himself to Theoden. Meanwhile, Aragorn was caught up in some discussion with Eowyn over her riding with them to Dunharrow. Meanwhile, Gimli was looking about scrutinizing the Rohirrim.

"If only we were back at Helm's Deep," Gimli said. "There was some good quality rock there. But this...horsemen! Hmph! I wish I could muster a legion of Dwarves, fully armed and filthy! That would send the Enemy running!"

"I fear they may have no need to ride to war," Legolas said, staring off into the North. "Already, war marches on their doorstep."

In less than an hour, the whole garrison at Edoras was now armed and ready for war. Suddenly, the lord Eomer spoke out.

"Now is the hour! Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken. Now, fulfill them all! To lord and land!"

At that, the company rode forth out of Edoras and onto the green plains of Rohan, their green-and-white banners flying in the wind.

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><p>By midday, they arrived in the camp at Dunharrow. They were amazed by the number of tents laid out before the mountain pass. There must have been over a thousand easily on one side almost a third of the way to the mountain.<p>

The trek up the mountain was steep, and all were sweaty once they reached the top, especially those who wore armor. Seeing Fiyero gasping and red-faced put a grin on Elphaba's face that she decided to wait until they arrived here to arm herself.

As they came to a halt at the top of the plateau, the horsemen dismounted and began setting up camp. Tents were being laid out and several were starting fires.

"It's almost lunch-time, don't you think?" Fiyero said, seeing the fire-pits being made.

"Aye." Gimli said, his feet back on the ground. He then went off to find Legolas.

"I'm famished," Elphaba said. "I haven't eaten since, well, I suppose since the victory celebration."

"I never thought I'd hear you say you're hungry," Fiyero said with a smile.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she said playfully.

"Well, look at you!" he said, indicating to her as they started setting up their tent. "You're almost skin-and-bones. You've got to eat up or the King will never let you ride into battle."

"Would you prefer me round and fat like a Munchkin?" she teased back.

"No, I like you as you are." he replied. "Just, well, you've been getting dangerously thin lately, even for you. No wonder you're starving."

"I'm not starving." Elphaba shot back.

"You said you were famished." Fiyero returned.

"That's not the same as 'starving.' Besides, where are your manners?"

"What are those?" he asked playfully. "Remember, I'm the one who said, when we first met...'Maybe the driver saw green and thought it meant go.'"

She threw his bedroll at him.

"Maybe the Wizard should have given you the heart instead." she retorted. They got back to their work, but half-way through, Elphaba suddenly stopped. She noticed that the other soldiers were saying little, almost nothing. Just then, Eowyn passed by their tent.

"Eowyn," Elphaba said. "Why is everyone so quiet?"

"Well, the horses aren't." Fiyero stated. True, their steeds were neighing restlessly.

"Long ago," she said. "Baldor, son of Brego, the second King of the Mark, boasted that he would venture down the Paths of the Dead." She pointed towards the far-end of the plateau, where a narrow path cut its way into the mountain-side. "He never returned. Ever since then, the Men of Rohan avoid that path."

She walked off back to Theoden's tent, and Fiyero was left to wonder what terrors lay down that path.

Elphaba, however, was not looking south towards the mountain. She was looking east, where the dark clouds from Mordor were now visible even in the daylight. Once again, the feeling of dread fell over her. It was insane to think that two Hobbits could actually make it through a well-guarded, evil land such as that.

She had to do something. She had to say something.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen. Elphaba was restless, looking out into the dark eastern sky. All her thought rested with seeking the Hobbit, even if she did not know where to start looking for him. So focused was she that she did not notice the Man approach her.<p>

"What draws your gaze to Mordor, Elphaba?" Aragorn asked.

She started, but sighed in relief when she saw who it was.

"I just hope they're alright," Elphaba answered.

"Take heart," he said, sitting next to her. "If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it."

"That's comforting," she returned with a hint of sarcasm.

He said nothing, but looked off with her.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

She nodded in approval.

"Tell me more about your country," Aragorn said. "I remember what you said that day when we met. But I would like to know more."

Elphaba nodded and began her story.

"Well," she said. "It's a very small world. Though sometimes it seems so big. There's Munchkins, who are a lot like the Hobbits. Wildmen in the west called the Vinkus, where Fiyero is from. Marshes like Midgewater in the south, where the Quadlings roam. In the north is where all the humans are: Gilikins, like Glinda. In the middle of it all is the Emerald City."

"And where do you fit into all of this?"

"I still don't know." she responded. "I'm obviously not Quadling, Munchkin, Vinkan or Gilikinese. I'm not sure where I belong in the grand scheme of things, not that I believe in some higher purpose or all, mind you."

Aragorn said nothing, simply musing on what she said, and the consequences thereof.

"What drove you out of your home?"

"I told you," she said tersely. "The Wizard was passing laws against Animals, I couldn't stand by and let it happen."

"And people called you a villian afterward?" Aragorn finished, undaunted by her tone.

"Yes."

"You chose your duty to your fellow citizens, even though it made you their enemy?"

She nodded.

"But what about the consequences?"

"I admit, I must not have been thinking clearly," she said, trying to choke back tears of painful memories. "Still, I didn't care about what happened to me, as long as the Animals were safe. To tell you the truth, I was about to surrender to the Wizard just so he'd let a group of Monkeys he'd imprisoned go free."

"You would sacrifice yourself for them?"

"It's not about me, it's about them." she returned.

Silence broke out between the two of them.

At this, Aragorn was down-cast. She turned back and saw his face.

"What's wrong?"

"I have been a fool."

"What? That's crazy. No, you haven't. We've trusted you this far, you haven't led us astray."

He shook his head. "You are kind, Elphaba, but the truth is that I have been selfish, and a fool." He rose to his feet. "Putting my own fears ahead of my duty, hiding from my responsibilities in the wilderness. Boromir was right, I was afraid."

"Whoa, hold on a second," she said, rising up and seeing his mind. "I think my problems are a little insignificant compared to what you have on your shoulders."

"Are they?" he returned, a fire burning in his eyes. "You were willing to risk life and happiness, surrender to your mortal enemy, all for the good of your people. Me? I've been hiding from the shadow of the past, constantly brooding. Strip our problems down to the core, you will see. In this, my friend, you are wiser than I."

He turned to the north, with a proud look in his eyes.

"You were right, Arwen." he almost whispered, fingering the Evenstar pendant resting upon his chest. "I am not bound to Isildur's fate." The memory of his decision on Amon Hen came fresh into his mind, when he had within his power to take the Ring, but he chose not to. He had faced the temptation of the Ring and defeated it. He was not weak anymore.

He walked off towards one of the tents, Elphaba hot on his trail.

Inside the tent, he spoke with the two Elves who were the Sons of Elrond. They presented him with the long, black bundle that Halbarad had brought with him that he refused to accept. Now he accepted it with both hands, stepped out of the tent and drew it out.

A great sword rang forth as it was drawn from its scabbard. It gleamed blue in the moonlight, and upon its blade were etched the lineage of the sword.

"Behold, Elphaba!" he said, holding the sword before her. "Narsil, the Blade That Was Broken. It has been forged anew. I call you Anduril, Flame of the West."

She stared almost blinded by the huge sword that he held in his hand. Then, as if a light had suddenly been put out, he sheathed the sword back up and walked into the tent. She followed after him, and saw that he was reaching down to a small bundle.

"Gandalf left this for me," he said, speaking more to himself. "I am the true master of the Stone. I must do so."

"No, wait!" Elphaba moved to stop him.

But it was too late. His gnarled hands grasped the globe.

Time seemed to have stopped.

An eternity later, Aragorn released the stone as if it were no thing.

The green woman had to step aside quickly or be run over by the Ranger in the heat of his haste.

"Wait, what are you doing?" she asked. "Why in Oz's name did you touch the _palantir_?"

"They were a gift," he said. "From Feanor to the Kings of Numenor, my ancestors. As Heir of Elendil, they are my birthright, as is this sword." He patted the hilt of Anduril. He paused, turning to her.

"I saw something in there." he said. "Sauron is bringing another army to attack Minas Tirith. Corsairs from Umbar will invade from the sea. We have to do something."

"Do what?" she asked. "Stop them? Are you crazy? Even with that sword, I seriously doubt you can take on an army by yourself."

"I won't be by myself." he said. "I'll have armies of my own."

"What army? Are you mad?"

"The armies of Western Gondor," he said, walking towards his horse. "And others."

"What others?"

"The inhabitants of the Mountain." he said, indicating towards the wall of the mountain. "They were sworn to come to Gondor's aid during the war that saw Sauron's downfall. But they feared him, and so they fled, vanishing into the mountain. In his rage, Isildur cursed them to never rest, even in death, until they had come forth to fulfill their pledge to fight for Gondor in her time of need."

He continued about his packing, and Elphaba ducked out of sight as she saw Eowyn approach him.

She remembered, on the way back to Edoras after Helm's Deep, Glinda saying something about Eowyn fancying Aragorn. She had been at Rivendell, and accidentally spied on he and his love, the Elf-maid Arwen, and knew that his heart belonged to another. Elphaba wanted to say something, but she held her tongue.

There was something else gnawing at her mind.

She had not been thinking straight. She was at the Council of Elrond, she knew what the Ring was capable of doing, yet her mind always drifted to it. She found herself constantly looking east, trying to will her magic to catch some sight of Frodo. Or, more specifically, some sight of the Ring.

Why was she so obsessed with it?

She had to think. That wasn't what she had to be doing. Not thinking about the Ring. Aragorn was about to go into a place that all the Rohirrim feared worse than death. She had to go with him.

Rousing herself from her thoughts, Elphaba turned back to see Eowyn returning to her own tent. She was in tears.

Aragorn was by now half-way to the mountain-road that led to the Paths of the Dead. Behind, she saw, were Legolas, Gimli and the Sons of Elrond. A haze of gray in their Elvish cloaks against the night-sky and the glare of torches.

She wanted to run to her tent and call Fiyero awake so that they could go after them. But some will other than hers kept her grounded and silent. Or, perhaps, it was her own will that made her silent and the unnatural urge was to go after Aragorn into the jaws of death.

Frustrated with her inaction, she ran back to the tent and tried to forget what had happened that night.

* * *

><p>The next morning saw Dunharrow a buzzing hive of action. The men-at-arms were mounting up, preparing for the long march to Minas Tirith. Fires were being doused out, tents collapsed and all was in readiness for war.<p>

At their tent, Fiyero was helping Elphaba into her new armor. She requested only a coat of steel-rings, which she draped over her dark-blue dress. A black jerkin of light-weight, a spare from one of the Rangers, she wore over the rings and fastened her cloak over it.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Talk about light armor!" he said.

"I don't want to burden Nessa."

"She's a horse, Fae. Not a Horse. I don't think she'll mind."

"Didn't you hear what the King said a few moments ago? 'Light and swift.' You might have to lose the shield or something."

"No way! That saved my life at Helm's Deep."

"Well, still. Don't blame me if we get to Minas Tirith and your horse can't even run anymore."

He sighed. Why were they always arguing?

When Elphaba mounted up, Fiyero saw that the horse was not burdened at all. He then handed her the Grimmerie, wrapped in leather and tied securely to her back. Her sword hung at her belt, along with the Lady Galadriel's gift.

Fiyero came up next, riding his stallion, which he decied to name Manek. He was in full battle armor, and now wielded something new.

"A spear?" she asked.

"Can't be much different," he defended. "Than the halberds we used in the Gale Force."

"You're going to wear Manek out, Yero."

"At least I can fight with this thing." he shot back. "Your sword might be good, but its too short to do any damage from atop the horse."

She laughed. "I don't need a horse to cause damage."

"That's true." he agreed.

They had no more time for chatter, for now the Rohirrim were already riding. The leader of their company, called eored by the Rohirrim, a tall man with blond hair named Elfhelm, blew upon a horn and led them after the lead company, lead by Theoden.

"Forth, Eorlingas!" Elfhelm shouted out as they rode to battle.

Elphaba tried to ignore the bumping she experienced on the horse. Instead, she looked to her sides to get her mind off it. At her right hand was Fiyero. To her left, she saw a very young rider, helmetted, who had a child before him on the horse.

Taking one look at the furry feet dangling shoe-less upon the horse's body, Elphaba realized that it was no child.

It was Merry.

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><p><strong>(AN: What did you think? I've been debating as to whether to have Elphaba go with Aragorn on the Paths of the Dead or go with the Rohirrim or a third option [won't say what it is, spoiler alerts]. I decided on this, because it would leave for an epic fight scene and would work with another book-portion that ties in with...well, you'll find out. Please leave commentsreviews. They are most helpful.)**


	3. Siege of Gondor

**(AN: Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. Since I cut out the Elves and Elrond, I had to find another way to make Aragorn come to terms with his lineage and take charge. Keep reading, for we're getting down to the action now)**

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><p><strong>Siege of Gondor<strong>

Glinda sat alone with Gandalf in their house in Minas Tirith. It was a mirthless day. All the city seemed to mourn with them.

Faramir had gone to his death.

"How can a father do something like that to their own son?" Glinda asked through tears. Her parents, whom she affectionately called "Mumsy" and "Popscile" had babied her the entirety of her life. She never felt the pure apathy that Faramir felt. She couldn't think of anyone who had felt such apathy.

Except for Elphaba.

"The Steward is mad." Gandalf said. "I could not reach the armies in the western-most reaches of Gondor before word came to me of his decision. I came back as fast as I could, but was too late."

"What will become of us?" she asked, trying hard not to look at the east, where the gathering darkness grew. Where the Enemy was preparing for war.

Gandalf said nothing, he simply looked up to the sky. The dark clouds that issued out of Mordor were now covering the city, blotting out what little remained of the daylight.

"The darkness is deepening." he said at last, a sigh escaping his lips. The old Wizard then looked out to the West.

"What becomes of the Istari if we fail our task?" he said with sadness.

"What did you say?" Glinda asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Simply talking to myself. A habit developed of old: the wise choose the wisest in the room with which to talk to." Glinda did not respond. She knew full and well that, in folly, Gandalf's wisdom far exceeded her own; in weakness, his strength surpassed her own, and in impotence, his power outmatched her own.

The memory of his last stand upon the Bridge of Khazad-dum refreshed in her mind just how powerful he really was.

A half-crazed idea came into the blond's head. She had been told the legends of Oz's beginning as a child, and knew all about Lurline and her band of fairies. In fact, some of the more superstitious in Oz believed that she, herself, was the incarnation of Lurline, or at least one of her band. They were beings of great power, who spoke Oz and all of its splendor into existence, and gave life to all its people.

It was a big jump to make, from that thought to the next, but Glinda suddenly realized that, in her world, fairies were more or less like the powerful Elves of this world. Beautiful creatures of great magical power who brought life and beauty wherever they went.

"Gandalf," she spoke at last. "Have you ever heard of Lurline?"

The Wizard turned his face to her, and she saw that he was smiling.

"Varda has many names," he said. "Elbereth she is among the Elves. Though I have never heard her called Lurline."

Glinda said no more, simply musing on what he meant. It made little sense to her mind.

Or did it?

A horn suddenly sounded from within the city. The gates were then opened.

Glinda looked out, and saw a host of heavily-armed and armored knights ride out on armored steeds, lowering their lances.

"Prince Imrahil rides out to save Faramir." Gandalf said. "But, I fear, he may be too late."

The blue host disappeared into the darkness to the east, off towards Osgiliath. An hour later, they appeared as a smudge on the horizon.

"Gandalf, look!" Glinda exclaimed. "They're back!"

She could not tell how many they were, or if any survived of Faramir's charge. But then another sound filled their ears.

The pounding of drums, the chanting of hideous, orc-voices.

"They are coming." Gandalf said.

"What? Who's coming?"

"The Enemy! The battle is joined!" he cried, rising to his feet, his staff in one hand and his sword Glamdring in the other. "Glinda, you must go. Now!"

"Where?"

"To the Houses of Healing, on the Sixth Level." he instructed. "Seek out Iorleth, the charge-nurse of the Houses of Healing. Your time to prove your worth has come, my lady!"

"Where will you be?" she asked.

"I must alight to the Seventh Level." he said, running to the stables. "The Steward needs counsel in this darkest hour."

"But..."

"This is no time to hesitate! War is upon us! Go at once to the Houses! May the Valar be with you!"

The Wizard lept atop Shadowfax and the horse carried him faster than lightning toward the Seventh Level.

* * *

><p>For the first time since she came to this world, Glinda had a task to do.<p>

She was doing something, she told herself as she picked up her skirts with one hand, leveled the staff to the ground with the other, and started searching for the Houses of Healing. She had no idea where to start, since she hadn't really explored much of the city since she came here.

Just then, the thumping of stones hitting the side of the building, only a few short feet before her, sent a scream out of her lips.

That scream then turned into a moan of sadness when she realized that what was hitting the building had rained down before her, close enough to be seen.

And they were no stones.

Severed heads of Gondorian soldiers and rangers were being fired back into Minas Tirith.

When no more heads came her way, she deemed it safe to move. Tip-toeing between the heads, trying hard not to step on them, she walked into the shadow of another building.

Just in time to see the house Gandalf, Pippin and she had used crumble to pieces with the hit of real stone.

The enemy were firing stones upon them.

She had to find cover.

Unfortunately, the next two blocks of city-street sat upon the edge of the Sixth Level's wall, open to whatever might hit them...or her.

But there was nothing else for it. She had to reach the Houses of Healing, on the western end of the Sixth Level. That was her charge.

Sullying up what courage she had, she made a dash across the exposed city-blocks, just in time as another stone struck where she had been hiding.

The Houses of Healing were on the western-most end of the Sixth Level, and she had a long way to go.

Stones rained down upon the levels, crumbling buildings and filling the air with screams of the dying. To even further complicate this issue, the Sixth level was not entirely empty. Gondorian soldiers, once stricken dumb with fear, were now rallying to the lower level. Glinda nearly got ran over as Gandalf came riding down the levels on Shadowfax.

Though she barely escaped being trampled in his haste, Gandalf's presence made Glinda feel a little better. He was rallying the people to fight, so there must still be hope.

Several more minutes passed as she finally made her way to the great keel of stone that separated the northern and south-western halfs of the city. Here she had to stop to breathe, for she had come a good distance, dodging stones and soldiers, and was not accustom to heavy running.

She could not hear what was going on, but the battle seemed to be going a little better. The men of Gondor were taking the stones and throwing them back at the Enemy, to some degree of success.

Then it happened.

Glinda had only heard that hideous screech twice in all of her little life. Once it was that time upon the River when they were attacked at night, and the second time at Anorien, where that thing that Gandalf called Nazgul passed over Cair Andros.

They had returned.

In the sky, nine black shapes, similar to birds but naked and wreeking of carrion stench, flew over the city, just out of bow-shot.

Not that any archer could stay still long enough to do anything when they came close enough.

The Black Riders atop their fell-mounts screeched with voices that struck those who heard them to the bone, leaving them helplessly crawling on the ground in fear. Moreover, the Black Riders would fly down low enough and cause greater havoc among the people of Gondor in the lower levels. Their mounts seized soldiers and dropped their to their deaths.

When the screeches filled the air and the cries of dying soldiers filled Glinda's ears, she cowered beneath the great stone keel. All hope had abandoned her.

Just then, a voice rose from below, just loud enough to be heard.

"Do not give in to fear. Stand to your posts, fight!"

It was Gandalf. His voice woke hope in her, and purpose.

Gathering up her staff, she made the final run across to the far west end of the city, and the Houses of Healing.

As she came in, she was greeted by a woman in the dark robes similar to those that the other women wore, with a veil covering her head and a morose look on her face, though she gave off an air of authority.

"What are you doing here, child?" she asked.

"Are you Iorleth?" Glinda asked.

The woman nodded.

"I'm Glinda." she panted. "Gandalf sent me here to help you."

"Are you a healer?"

Glinda tried to think what this might meant, and then realized why Gandalf sent her here.

"Yes." she nodded.

"Come inside," she said, ushering Glinda into the Houses. Already several citizens and a few men, wounded during the artillery attacks, were being brought in for healing.

"We don't have enough healers here," she said. "But right now, our biggest problem is on the walls."

"What's going on?"

"The enemy have put siege towers on the walls," Iorleth answered. "There aren't enough healers on the field to save the soldiers as they are being wounded." She turned back to the young woman. "I need you to go down to the first level and save those who are wounded."

Glinda nodded.

"Be careful, child."

Glinda ran off, trying to get her way down to the lower levels. As she went, the orcs started chanting something in their foul tongue. The darkness began to gather.

* * *

><p>Dusk was coming to the forest of Druadan as the army of Rohan was making their way south. The shadows were not present, for there was no moon or stars to make them.<p>

They had only paused once on their long voyage, to send scouts to see what happened in Minas Tirith. Having received bad news, Theoden ordered their pace increased, now they rode on even through the night.

Fiyero could not sleep, nor could any of them. But he had a specific reason for staying awake.

Elphaba.

Once they had passed the shadow of Druadan forest, she became increasingly on-edge, snapping out at the slightest annoyance. What's more, he saw that she would not stop staring into the blackness that came from the mountains on the left-hand of their journey.

The Mountains of Mordor.

He noticed that she was now mumbling something. He saw that the Grimmerie was not with her, but that she was slowly directing her horse to the left. He urged Manek alongside her to match her pace. Suddenly, she stopped and screamed: "Frodo!"

"Elphaba, what is it?" he asked, his heart racing.

"Frodo's in danger!" she shouted. "I must go to him!"

"No!" he said, bringing Manek in front of her path. "We have our duty."

"Out of my way, Fiyero, or I'll turn you back into straw!"

"Fae, no!"

She got off her horse and made a run for it. Regardless of what hurt it might cause her or him, he lept off his horse and tackled her to the ground.

"Get off me!" she growled.

"No! We can't go that way! The Ring is beyond our reach now! Remember what Aragorn said? His fate isn't in our hands anymore!"

"I have to go!" she begged, falling to tears. "Something's wrong, he's in danger. If he finds the Ring, we're doomed! I'm our only hope!"

"Listen to yourself, Fae! You're becoming obsessed!" He was now on top of her, both hands on her wrists to keep her from moving. A rather provocative pose, but she was thin and could easily slip out of his grasp if he did not use his whole weight against her.

"Look at me...look at me!" Her blue eyes turned to look at him.

"We can't go that way." he reminded her. "If we do, they'll find us and then they'll find Frodo too. It will all be for nothing!"

She relented with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Yero."

"I'm sorry I had to jump on you." he said with a smirk, which earned him a smack on the side of his head. "Ow. Seriously, what's with you?"

"I don't know," she replied, her voice breaking as she did. They were now both sitting on the earth, her back was turned away from him. "But something's not right."

"What is right anymore?" Fiyero replied.

"I haven't bled," she admitted through tears. "Not that you'd understand what that means."

He had to admit that she was right.

"But there's more," she said, turning to look at him. "I can't stop thinking about Frodo and the Ring. Well, the Ring specifically. I know I shouldn't, I know it's not logical for me to be thinking about it. He's so far away, I can't do anything to help him. But it's there, gnawing at the back of my mind. I keep looking out into the East, hoping my magic will show me where he is."

"Has it?"

She shook her head. "But I cannot get the Ring out of my head. It's driving me insane."

Fiyero put his arm around her gently, and she responded by throwing herself into his.

"It's okay, Fae." he said. "It's okay."

Though he knew it wasn't okay. They were in a world they knew very little about, going to war against an enemy more ruthless than the Wizard had ever been, perhaps as evil and destructive as...no, Fiyero dared not even think its name, for he knew not if the curse of its name held power in this world, and he did not want to take that chance.

He helped Elphaba to her feet and into the saddle. He then mounted Manek and they rejoined the company.

They had a long way to go before they reached Minas Tirith, and the battle was joined.

* * *

><p>It was dark by the time Glinda made it to the Second Level. As she paused for a breather, she saw a small group of the Enemy gathering together outside the City. They were clad in black armor, and black was their banner. A white circle sat upon the banner, damasked by a spider-like emblem. From that company came a chant that was in response to that of the orcs. To Glinda's terror, they were chanting in the Common Tongue.<p>

"Burn the city! Burn the sheep of Gondor!"

Almost as soon as the chant began, the missiles the catapults were heaving into the city were now aflame. Glinda was even more fearful, for these were landing in the first and second levels. Roofs caught fire, and a sheet of orange flame hung upon the hair, heating up the chilling night to a blazing inferno.

A strong hand suddenly grabbed her from behind. With a scream, she turned to see not an orc, but a Man. He was tall, and fair-haired, reminding her greatly of Legolas. But he was also strong-built, clad in blue armor.

"What are you doing out here?" Imrahil asked. "This is no place for a woman!"

"I'm from the Houses of Healing," she replied, her voice breaking with fear. "I'm here to heal the fallen. What are you doing? I thought you were in command of the city."

"I am." he responded. "But we're getting ready to buy Gandalf some time. I've gathered some of my knights, and we're ready to charge into the Enemy lines."

"Without backup?" she asked. "The walls are empty."

"It doesn't matter," Imrahil stated. "We're ready to give up our lives for the honor of this city."

She nodded and Imrahil led her back to where the Knights were assembled, keeping their horses save and under control while the fires and noises drove them almost mad.

"Keep out of sight." he said, placing her near a building that was still undamaged. "Make your way to the stairs and towers along the wall. Don't go onto the walls, they'll shoot you down. They will kill you and defile your corpse if they get half the chance, do not let that happen!"

With fear gripping every fiber of her being, Glinda nodded and headed off towards the walls, keeping hidden as much as she could.

It was a hideous sight if ever she saw one. Dead Gondorians lay scattered with dead orcs, many with severed limbs or gutted and mutilated beyond recognition. The white stones were stained an ugly soup of black and red. Foul-smelling odors filled Glinda's nose as she crawled among the corpses, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible. The worst odors came from the bodies of the orcs.

She couldn't help but throw up as she was assaulted by the stench, the sight and the sounds of death.

Maybe the sound alerted the Enemy to her presence, for she heard several voices call out to fire at the wall.

She took an unbroken shield from one of the dead Gondorians and hid beneath it as flaming arrows fell among the dead upon the wall. She was spared.

There was a sudden explosion from the direction of the Main Gate, and Glinda covered her ears with her hands. A voice of hope and warding then spoke out, strong and commanding, as the din of the explosion died away.

"Go back to the abyss! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your master!"

In response, a voice answered. It was harsh and shrill, the voice of a Nazgul.

"Old fool! Do you not know death when you see it? This is my hour!" A sound as of lightning was heard. "Die now and curse in vain!"

Glinda looked down upon the Gate, and saw Gandalf, a light shining in the darkness, sitting upon Shadowfax, his staff raised as for battle. Against him was his foe, one of the winged beasts, now walking upon the earth. On its back it bore a Black Rider, greater than all the rest. High was its lofty, crowned helmet, but no face there was beneath it. In its hand was a sword of fire, and Glinda sensed two great powers struggling to overcome the other.

It was too much. She could feel the very air straining with the force of their struggle. The beacon of hope against the harbinger of despair. This was no ordinary Nazgul, Glinda could tell, and she feared that it might just win this little encounter.

Her heart stopped beating.

Gandalf had been there for her, for all of them. He was their strength when they were weak, their hope when they despaired.

If he was defeated, what hope could there be for any of them?

In that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a rooster crowed. Shrill and clear he rowed, reckoning nothing of wizardry or war, only welcoming the morning that, in the sky far above the shadows of death, was coming with the dawn.

As if in answer, there came from far away another note. Horns, and more horns. The eastern edge of the Pelennor Fields was ringing with noise. The darkness was breaking, and the clear light of the morning shone forth out of the rank clouds of Mordor.

Rohan had come at last.

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><p><strong>(AN: Here we go! Pelennor Fields will be up shortly, don't go away!)<strong>


	4. Battle of Pelennor Fields

**(AN: Here it is, the epic fight-scene. It is based on the book Battle of Pelennor Fields, with little influence from the films. Just use your imagination and play the LotR soundtrack/any epic orchestra/metal music. You'll love it)**

**(Here's another thing. In the book, the Variags of Khand were mentioned as mercenaries of Mordor, though they were not mentioned. As the word "Variag" is a variant of the word "Varyag" or "Varangian", I thought I would explain a little of who/what they were in this fan-fic. As the Rohirrim are the embodiment of the positive qualities of the Anglo-Saxons/Nordic people, so the Variags of Khand are everything evil of that race: neo-Nazis, black metal and a gross fetish for all things orc-ish.)**

**(Enjoy!)**

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><p><strong>Battle of Pelennor Fields<strong>

Upon the eastern ridge of the Pelennor Fields, the army of Rohan was assembled. Behind them, the reek of the dark clouds of Mordor had been banished by the rising of the sun, and before them lay the Enemy. Legions upon legions of orcs filled the fields of the Pelennor, and the lower levels of Minas Tirith were in flames.

From where they sat, Elphaba and Fiyero, upon their horses, they could not tell what was going on. The scent of burning filled the air, and the sight and sounds of battle were before their eyes. At the head of the army, King Theoden sat upon Snowmane, dead still and gazing upon the agony of Minas Tirith. He seemed bent, the long years of his life finally weighing down upon him. They were too late, it seemed. The King would retreat, perhaps, they wondered.

Suddenly, the King stood tall and rode about on Snowmane, giving orders to his commanders.

"Eomer, follow the King's banner down the center! Elfhelm, down the left flank! Grimbold, take your company to the right! The others will follow these: forth, and fear no darkness!"

He then turned to the whole army, risen in his stirrups into the tall and proud image of the splendor of the Kings of Men. He cried out with a loud voice, louder than any mortal man had ever achieved before:

"_**ARISE! ARISE, RIDERS OF THEODEN! FELL DEEDS AWAKE: FIRE AND SLAUGHTER! SPEAR SHALL BE SHAKEN, SHIELD SHALL BE SPLINTERED! A SWORD DAY, A RED DAY, ERE THE SUN RISES! RIDE NOW, RIDE NOW! RIDE NOW TO GONDOR!**_"

With that, he seized a horn from his banner-bearer and blew such a great blast upon it that it broke asunder. With that, all the horns in the host were lifted up and sounding, like a storm upon the plain or a thunder in the mountains.

"_**FORTH EORLINGAS!**_" the King cried once more.

Slowly, the horses started down the hill. First went the King, followed by his banner-bearer and the Knights of his own house, and then came Eomer and his eored. But the King could not be overtaken.

Like a sea crashing upon the rocks the host of Rohan charged down into the Fields of the Pelennor. There was no stopping them now.

From her horse, Elphaba rode with the host, her raven-black plaid flying in the wind. Suddenly, Fiyero, who was at her right, held up his shield. Black arrows began falling among the hosts, fired by the orcs of Mordor. A death blow they were for any who were hit, for the Riders did not break formation or slow down for any who were struck, and man and beast were ridden down in the charge.

But no arrow found their mark on the two Ozians. And no more came afterwards, for the charge of Rohan had sent fear into the hearts of the cowardly orcs. For all their savagery, they had no courage. Against so mighty a host, they ran for their worthless, pathetic lives, striken by terror: many died, and the hooves of the Rohirrim trode them down.

From atop Nessarose, Elphaba had little with which to fight the orcs save for her sword. But that was enough. Though it were not a spear, and she could not cleave a path trampling them down as Fiyero did, she made short-work of those who passed between them. Looking up, she saw her love, riding through the orcs. In her eyes, he was now as great a warrior-prince as any of the nobility of this land, and her heart swelled with pride.

But it was short-lived, for the orcs still pressed them about heavily. They were little threat to the Riders of Rohan, who fought much better on horse than from behind the walls of a castle. The enemy was already in retreat.

Just then, the leader of their company, Elfhelm, rode up to Elphaba.

"Green rider!" he cried out.

She turned her face to him.

"They told me what you did at Helm's Deep." he said. "Come with me and we'll make short-work of the enemy's siege engines."

She nodded and rode after him without another word, thinking Fiyero would keep up.

He was too busy having fun riding these orcs down. When he stopped to see where Elphaba was and saw that she was not with him, he suddenly saw afar off where she was.

The catapults and siege towers of the orcs were catching fire as a small dot was hurling fire-balls at them.

He smiled and shouted out: "That's my wife!" with pride.

Suddenly, he felt an all-too familiar icy blast of fear take over him. It came from above.

"Rally to me!" Theoden called out to his knights, who were in disarray. "To me!"

Then it came, shrieking with all the fear-inspiring doom of the Black Riders.

A huge black shape descended from the sky. It picked up the King with its talons and threw it aside. Snowmane, poor horse, crushed his master as he fell.

Fiyero was now on the ground, paralyzed with fear. Manek had become full of the dread caused by that thing, and had bolted. He was now on foot, though he could not move. He saw the black shape come before the King, savoring the kill to come. But then, that young rider (was he called Dernhelm?) stood between the black shape and the fallen King.

"Begone!" he called out. "Leave the dead in peace!"

"Come not between the Nazgul and his prey!" the rider of the black shape hissed.

A sword rang as it was drawn. "He is my king, and I will kill you if you touch him!"

"Kill me?" mocked the rider. "Fool! No man can kill me!"

The beast attacked, but in one motion, Dernhelm had lept aside and hacked off the head of the beast. It crumpled to the earth, dead. But out of its wreck rose the Black Rider, tall and threatening, towering above her. In one hand was a sword, and in the other was a mace.

Fiyero saw the two engage, Dernhelm deftly evading the huge swinging mace of the Nazgul. But he was small, and the closer the Nazgul came, the greater that paralyzing fear became. Suddenly, the mace struck Dernhelm's shield, shattering and sending his arm falling limp at his side, broken. He fell to the ground, while the Nazgul approached like a black cloud of death, raising his sword for the kill.

Just then, Fiyero saw someone coming at him from behind. The Hobbit Merry drew out his dagger, gleaming red in the morning's light, and drove it into the Nazgul's hind-leg. It fell to its knees, screeching.

Then a marvelous thing happened. Dernhelm, weakened by his enemy's blow, rose to his feet. He removed his helmet, and Fiyero saw that it was someone else, who had come disguised to the battle against the King's wishes.

"I am no man." Eowyn said to her foe.

She drove her sword into the Nazgul's face with the last of her strength. It broke into many pieces, and she fell backward to the ground. But the Nazgul was gone. The black robes had fallen to the earth, the crowned helmet had fallen, and there was nothing within. A shriek escaped from the corpse, and was swallowed up, fading upon the wind and was never heard again.

Fiyero saw Merry crawl his way towards the King, weakened. He was favoring his sword arm, for it seemed to have been weakened. Behind him came Eomer.

"Farewell, Master Hobbit." the King said to Merry. "Forgive me, and live in peace. Think of me when you sit with your pipe, for I shall no more sit at Meduseld, nor listen to your herb-lore, as I promised."

"Forgive me, my lord." Merry said through tears. "I disobeyed your command."

Eomer then came to the King, and Merry stepped aside.

"My nephew," the King said. "My body is broken. I go to my fathers, in whose mighty company I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the Black Serpent." Eomer looked to where the King pointed, and there, lying afar off, was a leader of the Haradrim, slain upon the ground, whose red banner damasked with the black serpent was fallen and defiled.

He turned back to his uncle, tears brimming in his eyes.

"You shall be king, Eomer. Long live Rohan, love live the Mark."

At this, the King said no more.

As Eomer rose, now King of Rohan, he turned and saw a sight that broke his heart. There was his sister Eowyn, lying as dead upon the ground. Her face was pale and when touched her skin, it was icy cold to the touch.

"NO!" he cried out. Fiyero, who heard his cry, had never heard him sound more mortified than ever before. It was as if the last of his heart was being torn out of his very chest.

"Death take us all!" he cried out, with a voice in a frenzy. He then walked over to Fiyero and pulled him to his feet. Without saying another word, Eomer lept onto his horse and reassembled the army. Fiyero, in his haste to not be trampled, found that Manek was waiting by Theoden's body, his fear broken. He mounted up and got in line with the others. To his dismay, Fiyero saw that they were staring down a great host of grey, mammoth creatures, similar to Elephants only much greater, marching towards them.

Eomer shouted out in a voice that was haggared with grief and madness to those around him: "Ride, ride to ruin...and the world's ending! _**DEATH!**_"

At once, they charged after him towards the oncoming beasts, all shouting "**_Death!_**"

* * *

><p>By the walls of the city, where a small blond was cowering through the rank of the fallen, on the other side, a black horse charged through the lines of orcs, throwing fire-balls into their siege engines. They collapsed, raining fiery debris upon the orcs, who were now running for their lives, some of them aflame.<p>

As she rode, a blur of blue rode in from the open gates of the city and charged up almost nigh with her. Sat atop a white horse bedecked in armor was a tall man, also armored, with grey eyes and a face like an Elf. Behind him was a banner-bearer, and the banner was blue, with a silver swan upon it.

When the rider saw the green-thing, he drew his sword at her.

"What are you?" he said.

"I am no orc!" she shouted, realizing why he had done so.

Prince Imrahil lowered his blade. "My apologies. I thought you were an orc, but..."

"Because of my skin?" she replied. "I'm with you, for now."

"Why is the main army charging to their deaths against the Mumakil?" Imrahil said, pointing towards the southern end of the field.

Sure enough, she saw the horsemen charging straight towards towering monstrosities, similar to Elephants, which trampled them under-foot or swatted them like flies.

"They'll be slaughtered!" she cried out.

"Come!" Imrahil said. "Let's save who we can!"

They galloped on their horses across the field, hacking down those who got in their way, Elfhelm taking up the rear-guard. Imrahil called them to a stop when they came to a cleared place where a green banner with the white horse upon it rested. He got off his horse and walked over to where it stood, just a few feet away from where Theoden lay.

"The King of the Mark is dead." he said at last.

Elphaba lowered her head in sadness, but then she saw another body near that of the King, lying as if dead.

"Eowyn!" she cried out.

Imrahil walked over to the fallen woman. "Have the women of the Mark come to battle as well?"

"Just her, though we knew it not." Elfhelm admitted. "She is sister to Eomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Seeing her dead must have driven him to madness."

Imrahil knelt down by the woman's body, and lowered his silver, burnished vambrace to her lips. A little mist was laid on it, though it was faint to be seen.

"She's not dead." he said. "Only wounded, mortally maybe, but she lives still." He ordered one of his Knights to take her to the City. Meanwhile, he jumped back on his horse.

"Onward!" he shouted. "If I don't miss my guess, your Third Marshall is now King of Rohan. Haste is needed to save what is left of your army." The Knights of Dol Amroth and Elfhelm's eored rode off towards the rest of the host, and Elphaba followed with them.

* * *

><p>The first level was smoking. The fires had died out, and now the orcs had fled the City. At the Gates Glinda was now, blackened with smoke all over. She did not care, for she was aching from having stayed up all night out of fear. She stank like the bodies she waded through to save those who hadn't died: she didn't care. Many more sons and fathers of Gondor would live to see their families thanks to her.<p>

She looked up at the huge battering ram, Grond the orcs had called it. Her friend had set it on fire, bless her. She smiled, it was good to see that hideous wolf-face consumed by the fire. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, he had gone off to the Seventh Level at Pippin's request: something about Faramir.

As she stood there, she heard the sound of hoofs approaching the Gates. She feared lest it be some enemy, and picked up a sword from one of the fallen Gondorian soldiers. Though she did not know how to wield it, some strange fire was burning in her that just wanted to end it, to be rid of this bloody awful massacre, to go down fighting, taking as many of those foul orcs as she could.

But she saw, to her delight, that it was no orc. It was one of Imrahil's knights, riding back into the city. In his arms he carried one that looked on the very edge of death itself. She cried out when she saw who it was.

"Eowyn!" she cried. Turning to the Knight, she addressed through tears. "What happened? What's wrong with her? Is she dead?"

"The lady Eowyn lives," the Knight said. "My lord, the Prince, has asked me to take her into the City."

"Here, let me take her to the Houses of Healing." Glinda said, holding out her hands.

The Knight held out his own, pulled her up onto his horse, and the two rode off towards the Sixth Level.

* * *

><p>Upon the field of battle, all was not so quiet.<p>

The orcs were in route, but Gothmog, the general of the army, was bringing up the reserve forces. Armored Easterlings with their axes and lances formed phalanxes of death that slowly marched towards the Rohirrim. The Haradrim gathered around their Mumakil, for the horses of the Rohirrim could not stand being around them. Trolls of immense size, unaffected by the presence of the sun, slew whatever got close to their great hammers and maces. The host whose banner was black, Variags from Khand, charged head-long towards the Rohirrim with double the savagery of the orcs, hacking at them with swords, axes, spiked clubs and, sometimes, their very teeth.

It was hard to believe that they were actually human.

Among the Mumakil Elphaba rode. She would not attack them, for she feared for their lives. They were animals, and it was Sauron who was at fault for sending animals into warfare. But they caused great havoc, and many horses died. The Rohirrim seemed to be in route. One of the Haradrim archers shot down Grimbold, who was then trampled to death by a Mumak. She had to do something.

Summoning up her magic, she threw fire-balls at the wooden towers that sat upon their backs. The Haradrim archers within were burned to death, and the beasts went wild, charging through the lines of orcs and evil men.

To the south, she saw a fleet of black sails upon the horizon. Hope failed her as she saw the host of the enemy cheer at this sight.

At the shore, the orcs were jeering the arrival of the Corsairs. Victory was now theirs.

Suddenly, a tall man lept from the lead ship, his sword burning like a fire-brand. It was Aragorn. After him came Legolas, and Gimli, with his ax, and the Sons of Elrond. Then came a very large Gondorian general with an ax in his hand, and Derufin and Duilin with bows in their hands. Behind them came a host of Gondorian soldiers, men-at-arms, and militia.

"ELENDIL!" Aragorn cried out, lifting Anduril into his hands and charging towards the orcs.

Behind him came the others. While the Dwarf started off into a trot, he said to his Elf-companion:

"There's plenty for the both of us, may the best Dwarf win!"

* * *

><p>The Mumakil were in flight from Elphaba, the "witch of the West", as the Southrons called her in their tongue. She herself was in a battle-fury, her eyes burning with a hidden fire the likes of which had only come out once before.<p>

When she faced off with Dorothy.

Suddenly Nessa reared up on her hind-legs, neighing wildly and would not ride on. Looking to see why her horse had stopped, Elphaba saw that she had ridden into a company of the Easterlings. They were closing in about her, heavily armed and spear-tips pointed out at her as a hedge.

"Out of my way!" she shouted at them, fire gathering about her hands. "Or you'll get yours!"

"Do your worst!" one of the Easterlings shouted. "The Men of Rhun know not surrender!"

She threw a fire-ball at once, catching him on fire. Another she threw, but he held up his shield in place and was unharmed. The others took this and rose their shields, deflecting her blows. With pikes raised forward, they encircled her on all sides, ready to skewer her where she stood.

Then, a loud roar unsettled the soldiers of Rhun. A Gondorian captain the size of a bear came charging into their ranks, throwing them aside with his bare-hands and hacking off limbs with his ax. Elphaba thought this man more of some overgrown Dwarf than a man, for he was immensely large, and bearded with long black hair that was flowing.

"Run, Calenwen!" he cried out. "Forlong will cover your flight!"

"No!" she returned, heaving a fire-ball at an Easterling that came at him from behind.

"Go! Now!" Forlong shouted, swiping a Easterling so hard with his fist that the helm was shattered and the soldier fell dead.

Elphaba would not leave, for she saw the bear-like Gondorian was being surrounded by the Easterlings. She threw more fire into their midst, but it was in vain. Forlong threw himself into the thickest of the Easterling lines to save her life.

And now he was paying the price for it.

Just then, strong hands pulled Elphaba off her horse. She felt teeth gnawing at her from all sides. They brought down Nessa as well. She felt like she was going to die.

Then one of them stepped before her. It was not an Easterling, nor even an orc. It was a man, somewhat shorter than average, dressed in black armor covered in spikes. It wore no helmet, and white and black war-paint was smeared across its face. A club with spikes on the end it held in one hand and fresh blood was upon its lips.

"Let's see if you're green all over." the Variag growled in a gravelly, inhuman voice.

Just when it seemed that Elphaba was going to be killed or worse, the hideous, orc-like Variag was decapitated. Its hideous body fell to the ground, and was eaten up by those of its company who did not have hold on Elphaba.

Looking to see who her rescuer had been, she saw a figure jump off a horse, fall on his side, and then stand up, sword in hand, pointed at the painted Variags.

"Let the green girl go!" Fiyero shouted.

The Variags barred their tongues at him, growling inanely in his direction. One of the half-orc fiends ran bow-legged towards Fiyero, but he blocked its club-attack with his shield and hacked off its legs. Another charged, but he ran it through the throat with his sword. A hideous, gargling death-rattle escaped its black-stained lips as it moaned its last foul, cursed breath.

But the Variag host was still large and they were very powerful. Two charged at Fiyero, but another joined the battle and hacked the two down.

"Twenty-nine!" shouted Gimli as the two fell dead at his feet.

With him came Aragorn, Anduril dominating any blade it was brought against. Behind him came Legolas, the Sons of Elrond and the princes of Morthond, bows in hand, firing at the Mumakil that came close.

"Well met, Elphaba." Aragorn said, offering her his hand. But something caught his gaze. Elphaba turned and saw what it was.

A black figure was stumbling towards where Merry lay on the battlefield.

With a cry of "Anduril!" Aragorn lept across the field of battle, hacking down those who got in its way. Pushing himself off the last one, he brought Anduril down upon the skull of Gothmog the Black Numenorian, splitting his head in two.

But there was no time to rejoice. Legolas and the archers were bringing two Mumakil directly towards them. Aragorn led them out of the path, and they watched as the princes of Man and Elf brought down the Mumak.

Behind Derufin and Duilin were a company of archers. They were all of them keen-eyed, and they shot where their leaders told them. The young princes got in close enough that they could see the eyes of the Mumak for a brief moment, then ordered their men to open-fire on them. It was a gambit, for the beast was on the rampage, running towards them at full speed. They released some arrows, but then had to move out of the way before they were trampled. Most of them did, but Derufin was caught on the spikes on the Mumak's tusks.

The arrows did their trick. For the Mumak ran about wildly, swinging its tusks about and trumpeting wildly. The archers backed away, but Duilin was flattened by its huge foot as the beast ran blindly into a third one, with enough force to break the neck of the other. Two fell in a mighty collapse.

Legolas went up next, running straight towards the other Mumak. He lept onto and clung to its tusk, despite the flailing trunk that attempted to knock him off. Elladan and Elrohir fired arrows into the legs and flank of the Mumak, which Legolas climbed up as though they were hand-holds. Once on its back, he started picking off the archers and spearmen who tried to shoot him off. Suddenly the Elf-prince disappeared. They feared that he had fallen off.

But it was the wooden tower that had fallen. Legolas had climbed to the other side and hacked off the ropes that secured it to the beast. It fell to the ground, the Haradrim within killed by the fall. Taking up three arrows in his bow, the Elf shot them into the beast's skull and lept off its back as it fell, just close enough that he was unharmed by the fall.

"That **STILL** only counts as one!" Gimli shouted back.

They stood as if still, watching the battle come to an end around them. Eomer's company, having spoken with Aragorn some time before, had rallied the army and struck towards the southern gate, hacking down all who were in their way. From the city, Imrahil sent out another charge eastward that pushed the enemy between the hammer and the anvil.

By mid-day, the enemy were routed. All were slain save for those who were trampled or drowned in the River. Very few came back to Mordor, and only a rumor of the wrath of Gondor came back to the lands of Harad.

The Battle of the Pelennor Fields was over.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Yes, I got rid of the Army of the Dead <em>and<em> made Gothmog a Black Numenorian rather than "that ugly orc". This is my fan-fic and I can do as I please. For those movie-buffs, Forlong the Fat, Derufin and Duilin, Elladan and Elrohir and Imrahil _were_ at the Battle of Pelennor Fields in the book. I decided to incorporate them into this story, since this battle is more based off the book. Keep watch for the next chapter, which will have much more of the evils of Khand. -evil laughter-)**


	5. The Parting of the Ways

**(AN: Now we start deviating where the heroes stop following the main characters and have their own adventures. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. There's a little bit of suggestiveness, but don't worry, nothing M-rated is shown. Just an awkward moment for lols. Enjoy)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Parting of the Ways<strong>

Glinda had finished her duty in bringing Eowyn to the Houses of Healing. Now she asked permission of Iorleth to let her leave the Houses, which was granted. There was more than enough work to be done and Glinda stank and was shaken up quite severely after the battle.

She left the Houses of Healing and made her way down the ruined levels of the City, following the faint and fading hope that she had that one moment yesterday during the battle.

When she saw Grond burning and knew who's hand had burned it.

She was now on the First Level, the ruins of Grond lying blackened and burned upon the ground. Warily she made her way onto the fields of the Pelennor. They were huge, bigger than all the lands of the Vinkus. Now they were littered with dead things: men, orcs, horses, Mumakil and broken and burned siege engines. Many spears and banners stuck out of the ground as well. The stench of death hung heavily in the air.

She then espied a lone figure in armor of the Rohirrim walking among the dead. Mustering what strength she had left, she ran towards the figure.

"Fiyero!" she cried out.

It was he. Turning, he saw a very disheveled little blond, covered in soot, ash, blood, filth, sweat and vomit, running towards him. She threw herself into his arms, wrapping her little arms around his large body with a grip stronger than any steel. Sobs escaped from where she had buried her face on his breast-plate.

"Thank Oz you're alive!" she wept openly, still holding tightly onto him. "It was awful, the whole thing. I was alone all through the battle and...and..." She broke off into incoherence, still clinging onto him for dear life. Though Fiyero loved Elphaba, he could not help but plant a warm, friendly kiss on her dirty head.

Not that he was any cleaner. He hadn't bathed since Rivendell, unless that downpour during the Battle of the Hornburg counted. He sort of doubted that it did.

After a long, hard embrace, Glinda relaxed her hold that she could look at Fiyero once again in the eyes.

"You're safe now." he said. "The battle's over."

"Oh, Fiyero." she said weakly, throwing herself back into his arms. Suddenly, it dawned upon her. "Where's Elphie?"

"I don't know." he said. "We got separated after Legolas killed that Elephant-thing at noon."

"Oh, you don't think she's...?" she trailed off, breaking into tears at the thought.

"No, of course not." he returned. "She's somewhere here."

As if in answer to his statement, he saw a black horse some ways on the field. He knew it could only belong to one person. With Glinda bouncing after him, Fiyero ran over to Nessa's side.

"Hey, Nessa." he said, stroking the black mare's head gently. She neighed, well pleased.

"You know," Glinda admitted. "I'm not exactly sure what was going through Elphaba's mind when she named her horse after her sister." Fiyero chuckled. It was good to see some of her old humor coming back after that terrible battle.

"Hey, where's Elphaba?" he asked the horse, not really sure why he did.

Nessa turned her head behind her, towards the east. Gazing out, Fiyero thought he saw a small black speck slowly disappearing into the eastern horizon.

"Elphaba!" he called out, cupping his hands to his mouth.

"Elphie!" Glinda added.

The figure did not stop, but kept on going at the same pace as before.

"What in Oz's name is she doing?" Glinda asked.

"We've got to go after her." Fiyero said. He leaped onto Nessa's back, giving Glinda a hand-up and sitting her behind him. She took hold of his shoulders with both hands, holding on for dear life as he took off after the speck that receded into the distance.

* * *

><p>Nessa seemed to know which way she was going, and she led them across the Pelennor Fields to the edge of Osgiliath. They feared that here, in the ruins of Gondor's ancient capital, the Enemy might still be hiding or lying in wait to ambush those foolish enough to go thither. Glinda whimpered at every shadow, and Fiyero had his sword drawn.<p>

The horse led them to the great Bridge of Osgiliath, that spanned the Anduin River.

"Faramir told me," Glinda began. "That his brother Boromir destroyed the Bridge to keep the Enemy out of the city."

"Well, that worked well." Fiyero said sarcastically.

The orcs had made a make-shift bridge of wood to ease the moving of heavy weapons and troops across the River, and in their flight, had destroyed it. Once again, there was no way across the River by way of Osgiliath.

Nessa then trotted off the bridge, down a path lined heavily with rubble. She led them to a crumbled arch-way of another building, that led into a tunnel under the city.

"Sewers, eh?" Fiyero surmised. He sighed, then dismounted. He helped Glinda off Nessa's back, then, taking the reins in one hand and Glinda's hand in the other, they walked into the tunnel.

Any filth here was long unused, and the only real stench was that of orcs, who used this place during the taking of Osgiliath. That was quite enough, it seemed, to unnerve them, and they coughed each time the stench got stronger.

After a long trek through a dark tunnel, it terminated in a wooded area. Upon reaching the top, the two found themselves in a sparsely wooded area, with the city of Osgiliath in the distance behind them.

Once they were clear of the tunnel, Glinda came to a halt.

"What's wrong?" Fiyero asked.

She pouted, looking down at herself.

"Are you hurt?" he was getting nervous.

She shook her head.

"Look at me!" she said. "No, don't look at me! I'm hideous!"

"No, you're not." Fiyero protested.

"Yes, I am!" she returned. "I'm covered in ash, sweat, blood and Oz knows what else."

"Well, what do you want to do?" he asked.

"I need a bath." she moaned. "It's been too long since I've had a proper bath."

"We don't have time for this!" he insisted.

But she shook her head and would not move.

A nudge awoke Fiyero from his thoughts. Nessa had nudged his back with her nose, and pointed her head southward.

They went in that direction for a whole hour, until they found that the wood terminated in a very beautiful forest, where they heard the rushing of water in the distance. Mounting up, they rode the rest of the way and found that the rushing came from a waterfall that poured from the side of a small mountain nestled deep within the forest.

Here they came, quite by accident, upon the place known as Emyn Arnen, the secret camp of Faramir and his rangers before the orcs attacked Osgiliath.

At the "Forbidden Pool" they now stood, listening to the mesmerizing ever-ring of the waterfall.

"I know what you're thinking," Fiyero said. "But we have no time!"

"I've gone too long without a bath, Fiyero Tiggular!" she said, trying hard to sound tough and imposing. She then composed herself and turned away with a whirl of her dishelved hair.

"Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around! Don't look at me!"

Fiyero grumbled and did as he was ordered. Instead, he occupied himself with the scenery. It really was quite beautiful in this region, the evergreens were in their fullest bloom. He hadn't noticed that it was the early months of spring, and some of the flowers were starting to make their presence known, despite the absence of sunlight they had endured for quite some time recently.

A squeal broke his concentration.

"It's cold!" Glinda groaned, her voice sounding distant, drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. He hoped that everything would go well, that he would not have to help her with anything.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen a woman naked before, just that he and Glinda had had some history together. He knew that he was fully in love with Elphaba, but he did not want to be put into a situation that would remind him of the silliness of his youth. More particularly, his youth and the time he had spent with Glinda, back when she was called by a different name.

"Can I look now?" Fiyero said jokingly, hoping to ease the tension.

"No!" she called out.

"What if you get attacked or...or what if you see Elphaba?"

"I'll scream for you."

He rolled his eyes. Women seemed to have everything figured out a mile ahead of him, even though that was perhaps the most pathetic excuse for being out of sight, especially in these dark times. To get his mind off the awkwardness of the situation, he walked over to Nessa and started rubbing her lustrious, black coat. It was warm to his touch, and she snorted in approval.

He heard Glinda cry out. Thinking that something was wrong, he turned around to see what it was. She made a short shriek of shock and covered her rather large breasts with her hands.

"What would Elphie think?" she said, the color pink rising in her cheeks. She was half-under the surface of the pool; fortunately, the ripples and the running water of the pool obscured the other half.

"I wasn't looking." he admitted. "I thought you were in trouble."

"I slipped." she admitted. "The rocks are a little slippery."

He mumbled something and turned his back on her, trying to hide the beet-red shade of embarassment that washed over him.

At least he didn't blush as a scarecrow, he thought.

"Okay, I'm done." she said.

Turning around, Fiyero saw that she was fully clothed again in her dirty blue dress. The boots the Elves gave her didn't wear out, but they were rather filthy. Her cloak, also gotten in Lorien, was in good repair. This she wrapped herself in, and was warmed after the cool dip in the "Forbidden Pool."

"Do you feel better now?" Fiyero asked.

She nodded.

"Where to next?" she asked.

Nessa snorted and turned her head northeast.

"You know," Glinda said from the back of the horse, clutching onto Fiyero's waist now. "I can't believe we're doing this. Following a horse who somehow knows the way Elphie went. What would they say now?"

"The people of Rohan wouldn't mind," Fiyero said. "You know, while we were riding, I heard a lot of stories about their people. Did you know their king, Eorl, had a horse that could understand the language of men?" Glinda gave him a disbelieving look. "That's what they told me. Maybe Nessarose is a distant cousin."

Glinda giggled. "I still can't believe she named this horse after her sister."

"Why not? Nessarose is a pretty enough name."

She let it be. He was right, it was a pretty name.

* * *

><p>They rode on through Ithilien in silence, watching as the landscape slowly changed, becoming darker and more lifeless the farther east they went. At last they came to the Crossroads, where stood a statue of some great king of Gondor. Years of wear and tear and defacing by orcs had worn down much of the statue. It was covered in orcish runes painted, no doubt, in blood. The head was gone, and upon the severed neck sat a stone face with a crooked grin bearing the sign of the Red Eye.<p>

"Fifi," she said.

"Hm?"

"What did you think?"

"About what?"

"When you saw me naked at the pool."

He scoffed. "I didn't see anything."

"You fibber! I know you did, you just don't want to admit it."

"What if I did, huh? What do you want me to say?"

She didn't really have an answer to that. What would she want him to say?

For some reason that she never really could figure out, this came out of her lips.

"How does she measure up?"

"Not that it's really your business," Fiyero added. "But, well, it's more than her body that attracts me. I like her attitude, her spirit. I've seen her mad before, and she gets kind of cute when she does it. Her cheeks flare up purple and all..." He saw that she was intently listening, trying to think of some sneaky tid-bit or so. "But I love her. All of her, not just her personal or her wit. Also, I don't know. There was just this spark we felt, that day with the Lion-cub, like something clicked on in my head, or maybe in my heart."

"I didn't know you were so poetic." she said playfully.

They spent that night huddled up next to the horse, who slept with them. There wasn't much cover, nor would they really want to hide behind anything in this land. It was starting to become more dead, and they feared ambush from an orc or some other fiend all throughout the night. Fiyero wanted to post a guard, but neither of them were very wakeful to do anything about it.

* * *

><p>Morning did not dawn. There was dim, gray light, but no sun broke through the clouds that hung over the Ephel Duath. The change of scenery grew even sharper than the previous night. The evergreen forest of Ithilien gave away to dead, leaf-less trees lying still in the dead wind. The turf and scrub were gone altogether. The earth beneath their feet gave way to filthy, tar-like slag. The air was still and dead, with foul stenches floating listlessly in the breeze-less air.<p>

Here, Nessarose neighed in protest.

"What's wrong, Nessa?" Glinda asked.

The horse neighed again, shaking her head as if in no.

"I don't think she wants to go this way," Fiyero said.

"I can't blame her." Glinda suddenly said, her voice quickening with fear. "Faramir told me all about the Morgul Valley. He said its an evil place. Gandalf told me its the home of those Black Riders. They scare the breath out of me!"

"Calm down, Glinda." Fiyero said. "Now we're not going to get anything done by panicking in advance. We just need to calm down for a little bit, okay?"

"Okay." She was breathing easier.

"Any rate," Fiyero added, turning to Nessa. "I don't think we could take you with us as it were." He removed the saddle from off Nessa's back and took the bridle from her mouth. "Run along now, Nessarose. Be free."

Slowly the horse trotted back the way they came, and was soon lost to their searching eyes.

"She's free now." Fiyero said.

"Just as Elphie wanted her to be." Glinda mused profoundly.

The two sighed and then continued their march down the dark and dreadful path they had begun. As they went, fear clutched ever at their hearts. The land around them was changing drastically: the trees failed all together, the sky was darker than black, and black sand filled the cracks of the pitch-like slag. The air, also, was stagnant and foul, though unnaturally chill.

By and by, they came upon a very dark and dreary valley, ringed with high mountains of black stone on all sides. At the farthest end of that valley was a great city of black iron and stone, that glowed with an eerie green light. Between them and this great, fearful city there was a black river that had no smell or feel, but neither Fiyero not Glinda dared even think about drinking from it. There was something evil about that river. A single bridge spanned the river, going up to the great gate of that city, which grinned like a fearful skull.

Thus they came upon the city of Minas Morgul, that had once been the beloved Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon, now the Tower of Sorcery.

The two Ozians huddled in fear at the base of the high-wall of the mountain that was on their side, as far away from Minas Morgul as they could be. They wrapped themselves in their Elvish cloaks to keep out the cold, and Fiyero held Glinda close to him. She was shivering and shaking out of fear of that dreaded place.

Suddenly, there was a cry heard. A small host clad in black came out from the grinning gate. Fiyero saw that there was nowhere to run, and with Glinda stricken with fear as she was, they wouldn't get far if they ran. He drew out his sword, put her behind him and waited for the end.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Cliffhanger! All will be revealed in time, just wait)<strong>


	6. Land of Shadow

**(AN: One does not simply walk into Mordor...we slash and hack our way into Mordor, eviscerating the wickedness of black metal demons such as Gaahl, Samoth, Garghuf, Euronymous, Varg Vikernes and all of their neo-Nazi ilk with the wicked Variags of Khand as we go! I don't care if I offend their fans, for they are an offense to nature themselves!)**

**(Sorry, that's my little rant before the chapter begins. Hopefully this doesn't up the content rating of this story. It's rather extreme, though hopefully not too much to merit an M-rating. We also see the culmination of the subplots from the Fellowship parts, both mine and LittleGreenFae's. Enjoy)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Land of Shadow<strong>

"After 'em!" growled a Variag.

"They're not movin'!" another shouted. "They're afraid of the city!"

"Where's your bravery now, stone-man?" growled a third.

The hideous things were now upon them. With their iron-like talons, the Variags siezed the man and the little woman who was with him.

"I say we kill 'im and have our way with 'er." growled a short one.

"Shut yer trap, Garghuf!" another spat. "They're spies, as sure as my name's Samoth!"

"If they're spies, let's kill 'em slow-like and have our way while they're languishin'!" the third one hissed sadistically.

"We have our orders, Ergoth!" the leader, one who was rather tall and had a beard, growled.

"Damn the orders!" Ergoth spat. "Since when have you followed orders, Gaahl? Last time we had prisoners, you shipped them off to Cirith Ungol, and had your way with 'em."

"Enough!" growled a shorter, bearded one, with black-and-white warpaint on his face that looked like a hideous grin. "Thulak says we follow our orders to Lugburz! We take 'em to Lugburz, alive!"

"I haven't had man-flesh in a long while," growled Ergoth. "And neither you, Thulak, nor you, Gaahl, will keep me from having my due."

As Ergoth walked menacingly towards the two prisoners, his red tongue slavering over his black-painted mouth, Thulak took out a dagger and stabbed Ergoth repeatedly in the back.

"I'll give you your due, scum!" growled Thulak, as he cackled sadistically as he brought down Ergoth. Gaahl came up from behind and threw Thulak back.

"Keep your head, maggot!" Gaahl growled. "We've got our orders, and I aim to follow 'em." The beast walked imposingly towards the other Variags, growling at them. They obviously feared him, because there was no dissent after they sat under its gaze.

"Now," Gaahl hissed. "If you filth want flesh, there!" It pointed to the dead body of Ergoth. "Get 'im before he rots!"

The other Variags gathered around Ergoth's fallen body, tearing it apart with their teeth and bare-hands. From where they were bound, with Samoth standing behind them glowering menacingly in their direction, Fiyero pushed Glinda's face into his chest: how could these people call themselves humans and degrade themselves to cannibalism?

"Don't like what you see, do you?" growled Samoth, kicking both of them hard with its steel-toed black boot. "Don't worry, there'll be plenty to see by the time we reach Lugburz, you filthy spy!"

"Hall 'em to their feet!" Gaahl shouted. Samoth's iron-grip seized Fiyero and Glinda and roughly threw them to their feet. The tall Variag walked towards them, staring down with contempt at them.

"Don't think I'm keeping you alive for the pleasure of your company," hissed the black-and-white-painted Variag. "Lugburz doesn't need to know if you disappear before he even knows you're here. Now leg it!"

The two made their way across the dreaded bridge towards Minas Morgul, the hideous Variags walking behind them, with whips in hand to keep them from lagging behind. Though he kept his eyes to the ground, Fiyero noticed that these Variags were almost half-orc in their behavior. They walked bow-leggedly, wore armor similar to the orcs, ate in the similar fashion and same tastes, and spoke with the same foul, uncouth growling tone similar to the orcs. Some wore no armor, and their bodies were covered with markings in orc-ish runes similar to those carved on the statue of the King at the Crossroads. Some were other perverted signs. One, the bearded one called Thulak, had tatooed onto his back the tree of Gondor, turned upside-down, its branches burning and within the fire, the Red Eye of Mordor. Everything about that tatoo spoke orc: the crude-ness of the drawing, the hideousness of the design, the rotting flesh-wounds where the needle unskillfully tore through the Variag's back.

Why would anything, he wondered, want to be like the orcs?

They did not stay in Minas Morgul, for even the Variags were afraid of the ruined city. They went down a side-way that led from the main-gate to a small place ringed in by mountains on the eastern-side of Minas Morgul. Though they did not come into the city proper, Glinda saw hideous pale shapes, shades of the dead, with hideous faces moaning out from the green glow around the base of the city. It chilled her to the bone, and sobs escaped her lips.

"Quit your whining, you b*tch!" hissed Thulak, striking her hard across the face.

She stopped, but the force his blow was hard enough to cause a big, reddish-blue bruise on her cheek.

The small clearing they came to led down a narrow path that led up the mountain-side. Here the Variags threatened the Ozians with the whip if they dared slack their pace, and then drove them up the narrow path at double-speed. Twice they felt the sting of the lash on their backs, though they could not cry out in pain.

At the top, the path widened and led down a great stony path that veered off to the left. The main path continued forward, to a tower that looked like a very worn-out structure of Gondorian design. Fiyero realized that these orcs and their foul allies built nothing, for they were but a mockery, and inhabited the structures of their adversaries that they didn't totally burn down.

Here the Variags halted and Gaahl stood out at the front of their party.

"Shagrat!" he growled out. "Open up, we got prisoners!"

There was no sound from the tower.

"Shagrat, don't keep us waiting!" Gaahl roared again.

Once again, there was no response to this challenge.

"Where the hell is that ape?" Gaahl roared. He then looked down and saw two orcs, both of them dead with arrows through the back. Gaahl turned to the others. "Easy pickings, boys!"

The Variags surged upon the dead orcs, devouring them like mad-men. Fiyero almost vomited when he saw them tearing through the filthy orc flesh and smearing the black blood upon themselves lecherously.

"What are you sneering at?" Thulak mocked, delivering a powerful blow that sent Fiyero to the foul, black earth. "The men of Khand worship Lugburz. He is our god: the only god with real power! It is our greatest pleasure to emulate his servants! By becoming like the orcs, we surpass weak and feeble men!"

Fiyero was visibly disgusted. In return, Thulak gave the prince a hideous smile, enlarged by the painted smile upon his bearded face.

Gaahl walked back to the group. "Well, it looks like Shagrat's not at home. There's dirty work afoot. Too many orcs are dead here. Let's take these scum back to Lugburz."

But Samoth stopped.

"Who put you in charge?"

"I did!" growled the larger Variag.

"I say what goes!" challenged Garghuf. "And I say we kill 'em now!"

"Shut yer maggot-hole, Garghuf!" Samoth spat. "I say what goes."

While they were arguing, Fiyero looked about and saw something to his great delight. There were only four Variags in this group. Just four of them. If they fell to blows, it would be easy to fight his way out of them.

Garghuf suddenly fell before Fiyero's face, the creature's own face bashed in by Gaahl's spiked club.

The larger Variag and Samoth were now fighting each other, their spiked clubs clashing together with a dull thud of wood-on-wood.

A tight hand closed around Fiyero's throat, and his face was forcibly turned around so that he was a few inches from the foul-breathed Thulak.

"You're mine now, pretty." the Variag hissed, though whether it referred to he or to Glinda, Fiyero could not rightly tell. "Weak." It spat something foul and black into Fiyero's face. "Just like your people, Stone-boy!"

Fiyero's hand limply fell to the ground, feeling the cold steel of a dagger. Garghuf's blade must have fallen out when it was slain. Thinking fast, he seized the dagger and drove it through Thulak's throat. A long, hideous, rattling death-growl escaped the maggot's mouth as blood was filling its throat and lungs.

"You're the weak one," Fiyero said. "For siding with the orcs."

At this, Gaahl and Samoth realized that their prisoner was after them and armed. Samoth charged first, club a-swinging. But Fiyero ducked under the blow and buried the dagger deep in Samoth's naked chest, sending the Variag to the ground. Groveling in the last moments of its life, Samoth looked up and saw Gaahl standing over him. The larger Variag grabbed Samoth's hair, forcing his tongue out. Then he bent down as if to kiss Samoth, and tore the other's tongue out of its mouth, a muffled cry escaping from Samoth's wretched mouth as life eeked out of its hideous body.

"Your turn, man-boy!" Gaahl hissed, coming towards Fiyero. "I'm gonna bleed you long and dry and force your worthless blood down your throat as you die, you maggot!"

The huge club came Fiyero's way, and he ducked aside. But Gaahl was faster and cleverer than the others, and the Prince had precious time to think over his next move as the large creature charged after him, intent on torturing him to death. But Fiyero was still clad in his Rohirrim armor, and his movements were slow at best. Gaahl, seeing his advantage, swung a huge hit at Fiyero's chest with his club, and the head broke as it struck the superior armor of Rohan.

Fiyero felt the force of the blow like an anvil feels the hammer-strike, but was not seriously harmed.

Seeing that his precious club was worthless, Gaahl tossed it aside.

"Look at you!" it growled at him. "You're wearing out already, I'm just getting started. You are weak! Scum, filth: like the rest of those weak-men who sided with the Elves. Only Variags, who embrace the iron fist of the orc, are the true master-race!" He tore off his armor, revealing a black symbol tatooed onto its chest. It was like a cross, but the ends were bent, so that the cross looked like a black spider, with one red eye on the middle of its body.

With a guttural roar, Gaahl charged at Fiyero. Weaponless, the Prince did what best he could. He struck out with his fist, breaking Gaahl's jaw with a deafening crack. Another blow to the stomach, and another to the face. Gaahl struck out at Fiyero, but the Prince caught the creature's gloved hand, and shoved its spiked-gauntlet back into its face. The Variag screamed in pain, unable to see. In vain, the Variag stumbled about, swinging wildly at shadows. It came to the brink of the cliff upon which the tower sat and fell off. A cracking sound that echoed from below spelled the final end of that beast.

Suddenly, Glinda screamed.

Turning around, he saw her clutching her side. Her dress was stained with red blood. Behind her stood Thulak, blood gushing out of its open throat and a dagger in its hand, fresh with Glinda's precious blood. A sudden rage filled Fiyero from the lungs upward, and he lunged at the Variag, heedless of what it might do it him. He kicked it in the chest, then seized an unbroken spiked-club from one of the dead Variags. He buried the spikes into Thulak's face, horribly marring it and sending the beast falling to the ground.

Still in the heat of his fury, Fiyero smote the fallen Variag with the club, over and over, repeatedly in the face, until there was nothing left of that hideous tatooed-grinning Variag bastard.

* * *

><p>Panting heavily, he turned to Glinda, fallen on the ground and clutching her side.<p>

"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling at her side and throwing the club aside. "When he hurt you, I just lost myself."

She only whimpered in pain.

He tore off its armor and threw it aside. Now in the green clothing he wore as a scarecrow, he tore a huge chunk out of his shirt and wrapped Glinda's wound in it.

"Can you stand?"

She shook her head feebly.

"Well, then I'll have to carry you." he said, pulling her over his back. "We've got get out of here."

"Wh-where are we?" she murmured at last.

He said nothing, for he didn't know himself. Walking over to the edge of the cliff, he saw Gaahl's broken body. It had fallen on its head, which was now twisted at an odd angle and the rest of the body was horribly out of shape.

Just then, the ledge where he was sitting on gave way. He threw Glinda behind him, but had not the time to grab onto anything. He was sliding down the side of the cliff.

Glinda looked down helplessly, as Fiyero slid down to his death.

Fortunately, there were a few dead bushes along the way, and he fell among them.

The little blond walked over to a less steep edge and slid down to the bottom. She then hobbled feebly over to where Fiyero was caught. His face was scratched by the barbed branches of the dead bushes, but he was still alive.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded, and then pushed himself out of the bush, where he fell upon his back on the ashen-gray rock and sand. He sighed: he now realized just how weary he was.

"What's that?" Glinda asked.

Fiyero looked out, fearing some new assault. But he saw that she was pointing beneath the bush where he had fallen. There, beneath the branches, was something wrapped in black cloth that must have fallen out of Fiyero's armor when he fell into the bush. He reached down and pulled it out. The cloth-wrapping had a silver "G" rune written upon it in Elvish characters, though he knew it not.

"I think Lady Galadriel gave this to me," he said, trying to recall when he had received it. It must have been a long time ago, for he forgot. Though he did not recall bringing anything like this from Oz. It must have been that.

"Well, what is it?"

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I never really noticed it until now." Gingerly, he unfastened the bindings and unfurled the cloth.

Within was a piece of old leather, well-cured, that had a map written upon it. It was very old, and there were Elvish runes and letters in the Westron tongue upon it.

"'The year 3434 of the Second Age.'" he read. "'This map was made by Anarion, lord of Minas Anor, and Elrond, lord of Imladris, for Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldorin, as the Last Alliance invaded Mordor, the dark land of Sauron, our mortal enemy, to begin the Siege of his land.'"

The map showed a land ringed by mountains. At the north-western end of the mountains, there was a name "Morannon" written. Beneath that was a wide plain called "Udun", which was closed off by a line of mountains called "Isenmouthe." Beyond there was a large plain called "Gorgoroth", with mountains that marked the northern ("Ered Lithui") and western ("Ephel Duath") borders of the land. In a kind of line that stretched from the Morannon to a variable center of Gorgoroth was a great mountain labeled "Orodruin", with a tower posted a ways to the north-east called "Barad-dur." Along the Ephel Duath, almost parallel with Orodruin, there were two marks called "Minas Ithil" and "Cirith Ungol." At the top right-hand corner of the map was a name written.

"This is a map of Mordor." Fiyero said, his voice shaking.

"Mordor," Glinda mused. Then her face flickered with joy. "That's where Fruito and Stan went to destroy the Ring!"

"Who?"

"Flippo and Slam."

"Don't you mean 'Frodo' and 'Sam'?" he corrected. She made a pouting look at him.

"Hey, maybe we'll see them here!" she wondered.

But there was a dark look in Fiyero's eyes.

"It's Fae," he said. "She told me before the Battle that she had this overwhelming urge to go after Frodo. I told her that we couldn't, but I don't see why she would do this!"

"Well, shouldn't we go after her?" Glinda asked.

"Look at you!" he said. "You're in no condition to..."

Before his eyes, he saw a marvelous thing. Glinda's staff suddenly appeared in her hand, and where she had been clutching her side, there was no more flow of blood.

"Glinda, what happened to your staff?" he asked.

"I don't know." she wondered. "When those cruel men came after us, it suddenly disappeared. And now..." She was looking it over, as if it would suddenly collapse on her.

"Can you stand now?"

Helping herself up with the staff, Glinda rose to her feet. She nodded.

"We've got to go after Elphie," she said.

"We don't even know where she went." Fiyero added gloomily.

"Well, if she's going after Frappo, like you said she was, then where would he go?"

"To Mount Doom." he answered.

"Well, I heard the Gondorian people say that the red light in the eastern sky was from that Orodroo-in place, and when I asked them what it was, they said..."

"Mount Doom?" he asked.

Fiyero then rose up and looked out upon the Gorgoroth plains, in search of the mountain in question. He did not have to look far, for almost directly east was the huge mountain, impossibly high and belching fire and smoke into the sky.

He pointed towards it. "That's where we'll go." he said with confidence.

And so these two Ozians set out across the Land of Shadow to the Mountain of Doom.

They hoped beyond hope that their friend was still alive, and had not been found.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Hope you enjoyed it. If you're one of those black-metal-fanatics who got your feelings hurt that I killed off your idols, well you know where to stick it. As for the others who have been reading so far, stick around. It's all coming to an end soon!)<strong>


	7. The Dark Tower

**(AN: In case you were fearful, let me just say that no, I am not making Elphaba turn evil in the end. Just read, you'll find out what happens. Also, you may have noticed that I said before that Elphaba has blue eyes in my story. However, while I was writing this, and reading "Another World, Another War", I imagined Eden Espinosa as Elphaba, and she has brown eyes. I wrote Elphaba with blue eyes mostly out of habit - after all, a good deal of the Elphaba actresses, Kerry Ellis, Carmen Cusack, Lisa Brescia, Willemijn Verkaik, Roberta Valentini and even Margaret Hamilton [maybe], had blue eyes - and I trust my readers will imagine her with whatever eye-color best befits their tastes. Now enjoy the epic climax of this series!)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Dark Tower<strong>

Somewhere in the Land of Mordor...

Elphaba trudged onward, her face set like a flint towards the flaming, fuming mountain of Orodruin. She was no longer in control, for her desire for the Ring had fully enclosed her higher reasoning. Now she was walking onward, to her death, if only to hold the Ring in her dying claws. Claws they were, for she had walked many miles without food or rest, and was now almost as thin as death. Her green face was dirtied with the black soot and dirt of this land, unwashed and now caked with blackening blood from the battle.

Her boot caught on a stone, and she fell hard upon the rocks, not moving at all with her fall.

Darkness took her, and the dull, gray world of Mordor faded away. She was now alone, in a dark place, clad as she was. On one side, she saw a familiar Goat's shape materialize. He was standing upright, though he was bound hand and foot in fetters of iron. At the other side was a young woman with bright brown hair, dressed in black, kneeling upon the blackness with her hand over her heart.

"What are you doing, Elphaba?" the Goat asked.

"I need to find the Ring," she said. "I need to know it's safe."

"Don't lie to yourself," the friendly old Goat said sadly. "You know why you came after the Ring. You want it for yourself."

"No, no, I'm better than that." Elphaba replied.

"It is not an evil thing to be tempted," Nessarose said. "Only to yield to temptation is there evil."

"Don't preach that nonsense in my ears, Nessa!" Elphaba said harshly.

"She is right," the Goat added. "None can resist the Power of the Ring; you are no different than Aragorn, or Frodo, or even the Lady Galadriel."

"How do you know about those?"

"We're part of your mind, sis." Nessarose added.

"This is stupid."

"You haven't been yourself, Elphaba." the Goat began. "You have argued the temptation over in your mind, until now you think that you have to have it for it to be safe. Power corrupts, Elphaba, but absolute power corrupts absolutely."

She was silent at this.

The Goat raised his hoofs. "Look at what power can do! The power of one."

"Power drove the one I loved to hate me," Nessarose added with tears. "It ruined me! It will ruin you."

The two closed in, speaking more of the same over and over, and then faded into the darkness.

Elphaba awoke from her thoughts, finding herself face-down in the gray earth.

Why was she here?

It all came back to her, everything that had happened after she heard the voice of the Ring after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. She had caved in, given up at all: she turned her back on her friends and walked into Mordor alone, starving herself in an endless search...for the Ring.

Tears came to her dry eyes.

So, she thought, in my quest to do good, I become an instrument for evil.

She bowed her head, lost and alone at last, and wept.

What would they think if they saw her now? Aragorn, who had finally come into his own? Gandalf the White, the mighty Wizard she almost revered? Fiyero, Glinda, Elrond, Galadriel...

The thought of Lorien brought something else into her memory.

A hand reached down to her belt and pulled out the glass phial that had been given her by the Lady Galadriel.

And with it, came her words.

"You choose to walk a path of darkness..."

Had she known what would happen?

As if in answer to her unbidden plea, the glass slowly began to shine with the Light of Earendil.

She suddenly became aware of how exposed she was.

* * *

><p>Fiyero and Glinda had come to the edge of a small gully, where they rested. They were both tired. They had not eaten anything for a long time, and any sign that Glinda had bathed back at Emyn Arnen was long gone. All they had to breathe was the cold, poisonous air of Mordor, and the hot ash blown from Orodruin.<p>

Needless to say, they were thoroughly tired.

They sat down beneath a small rock, wrapping themselves in their Elvish cloaks. It offered their only protection from whatever might attack them.

There was little indication of when day ended and the night began, for all was in darkness. But they guessed that it was late night, for the dark clouds of Mordor were darker than usual. Fiyero happened to cast his eye into the gully, and saw something that rose his spirits.

There was a pair of filthy black garments and armor, and an Elvish cloak that sat beneath a large pack full of pots and pans.

He smiled. He had been around the Hobbits long enough to know which one always clanked when he ran.

They must have come this way, for only Sam carried the pots and pans with him, and he would not have left Frodo for anything. The filthy garments, he didn't recall them having.

Then a funny thought came to his mind.

Maybe Shagrat and his orcs captured the Hobbits and, in a fit of bravery, Sam fought them all of and rescued Frodo and the Ring, after which they ran down the hill, garbed in the armor of their enemies. It was much more likely that the orcs, as foul and treacherous as the Variags had been, if not worse, fought among themselves, slaying a good deal, after which Sam came along and rescued Frodo. The rest, it seemed, was more or less true.

This made him smile for the first in a very long while.

"Glinda, wake up." he whispered, patting her blond head. The little woman rubbed sleep out of her eyes and drowsily rose up.

"Is it time to move?"

"Not yet," Fiyero said, for he knew the answer. They had been going straight towards Orodruin with only a few stops, and they had seen no sign of Elphaba. He was starting to despair.

"But the Hobbits were here." He gently removed himself from behind her and crawled over to the gully. Climbing down, he pulled up one of the pans.

Glinda managed a weak smile. Fiyero said nothing as well, for he knew the truth.

They were deep in the land of the Enemy, looking for someone they didn't even know was still alive, or whether she was dead or had been captured. It seemed more futile, to them, than the attempt to throw the Ring into the fire. That, at least, was closer at hand and much more attainable.

Glinda then gasped.

"What? What is it?"

"I see a light!" she said.

"It's just the mountain." he replied gloomily.

"No, there, over there!" she had risen as much as she could, leaning heavily on her staff. She was pointing somewhat south of the mountain. "There's a white light flashing."

"So?"

"So, Elphie told me the Lady gave her a light-glass like she gave Frudo!"

Fiyero turned to where she pointed, and he started sobbing.

"Can it be? Is it really her?"

"We won't know unless we go now." she said, walking to the edge of the gully.

Just then, a horn-call broke the air.

"Oh no!" Fiyero hissed. "The orcs!"

"What orcs?"

"Didn't you see those camps we came through on the plain?" he said. "Orcs had been camping there. They're coming our way, I can feel it."

"What do we do?" she asked, fearfully.

Fiyero had nothing else to do but hold up the filthy garments that sat at his feet.

* * *

><p>Elphaba slowly regained consciousness.<p>

The last thing she remembered was the Light shining in her hand. Then there were jeers from behind the hill, and she drew her sword. And all faded to blackness.

Waking was no better. She found herself sitting in a cell of black iron, filled with bones. The groanings of the dead and dying filled her ears, and there was no heat in the dark, dank room.

Where was she now?

As if in answer, the door opened. In walked a figure in black robes and black armor.

"You're awake." the figure said. It spoke in the Westron tongue, after the manner of the people of Gondor. It made Elphaba shudder. How could a Gondorian serve the Enemy? "The Dark Lord will see you now."

The man roughly threw her to her feet and drove her onward, a whip in his hand to keep her in line.

She saw little as she walked, but what little she saw was enough. All was dark and blackness, and what torches there were that hung spider-like upon the walls, gave little light and no heat. The iron floors were littered with bones and filth, and the noises of the dying filled her ears. Out of the blackness, she saw pairs of red, yellow and white eyes gazing out from the abyss, and hissing noises and the rattling of chains. But nothing appeared.

She wished they would, to end her torment over what they might be. She also wanted them to remain hidden, for some great fear had seized her.

Being under the black breath of the Nazgul felt like a warm, summer day compared to the utter dread and coldness that filled her to the heart.

At last she was brought into a wide chamber of black, polished iron. Upon the doors was the symbol of the Red Eye of Mordor, and upon a thin pedestal in the center of the room there sat a _palantir_. At the other end of the room, seated upon a throne carved in the likeness of the same four-faced foul creatures that stood guard over Cirith Ungol, there sat a man clothed in black, with a great and high helmet of black iron. There was no face, but a mouth hung open, revealing foul, black lips that rested unsettlingly over rotting teeth.

"My master, the Dark Lord of Mordor, bids thee welcome." the figure said to Elphaba in a deep voice, but similar in accent to that of the soldier who took her from her cell. He waved a black-gloved hand and the resounding noise of iron-shod feet indicated that her guard had left her.

"Where is he?" Elphaba asked defiantly, though her heart failed her even as she spoke. "Where is Sauron?"

The man on the throne suddenly jumped to his feet, crossed the room in little time, and smote her with his mail-gloved hand, sending her to the ground.

"You shall not blaspheme the name of the Dark Lord!" hissed the foul-mouthed servant. Elphaba knew he had hit hard, harder than was possible for mortal man to strike, possibly even strengthened by some dark magic, for she spat blood out of her mouth. A hideous coughing sound of mocking laughter came from that hideous mouth.

"The Dark Lord sensed your presence when he spoke to you, through his Ring." the emissary said, walking menacingly around her. "You know where it is. You will tell us now..."

"Or what, you'll kill me?" she replied.

"Not yet," the Mouth spoke. "You shall first be brought to the Houses of Lamentation, where your body shall be tormented beyond imagination. We shall exercise upon you every torture the Black Tower knows how so skillfully to inflict upon its enemies. Your will shall break, and your heart will be left bare. Your feeble mind shall be left naked, shrivelling under the burning gaze of the Lidless Eye."

She shivered as this fiend spoke with frightening assurance. The voice filling her very bones with terror, and her mind with every image of torture it could imagine.

"You shall beg and scream for death," he continued. "But the Dark Lord shall show no mercy. He will not oblige your pitiful supplications. If ever we deem it right to release you, you shall be returned to your friends, utterly scarred beyond belief: a fitting example that the Dark Lord does not take kindly to treachery.

"There is no hope for you, Elphaba." spat the Mouth at last. "None have escaped the Dark Tower alive, nor shall you."

At last, she rose to her feet. Her sword, she realized, was not on her belt. They must have taken it, along with the Light and...

The Grimmerie.

The Mouth stood afar off, on the other side of the room, standing still, but cowering as if in fear of something so powerful that it unnerved even so haughty a foe as he. But Elphaba could hear nothing.

Then, the room became suddenly cold and lifeless.

"Khamul!" growled the Mouth to one of the doors. It was now open, and in its place there stood one of the Nazgul, black-robed and armed with a sword at its belt. "The Master would speak with this wretch. Take her to the summit!"

Elphaba felt an icy-cold hand of steel grip her shoulder and she blacked out again.

* * *

><p>It hadn't been pleasant, but they were still alive.<p>

Fiyero and Glinda, now dressed in orc armor, were being driven to the Black Gate in a great host up from Nurn. The little blond had to leave her staff behind, and they were both well-beaten with the lash by the taskmasters as they fell in line. Now they trudged along with enemies that would devour them if they ever discovered they were not with them.

Not that they wouldn't devour them if they were really orcs.

But they were tiring out. The armor was heavy, they were famished, and the foul weather of Mordor was taking its toll on them.

Just then, the host halted.

A black horse rode towards them, carrying one of the black Uruks behind in chains. The horse's rider, clad in black though no Black Rider - they did not feel fearful and cold as they did under their presence - jumped off the horse and pulled the black Uruk to the ground at his feet.

"You should be killed for failing to keep order in Cirith Ungol." roared the Mouth at the prone figure of the orc. "But the Master sees fit to send you to the front-line of battle. Die well, Shagrat."

The Mouth then mounted his horse and with a command rode off north-westward, the host continuing their long march.

They passed through a great wall of black iron, whose gate was fashioned in the likeness of the mouth of a great dragon (or was it a balrog?). This, Fiyero presumed, was the Isenmouthe. Into the narrow plain of Udun they passed, a narrow plateau where pits of fire and lava boiled and hissed some many feet below on their right and left-hands. Before them was a huge black shadow, with two great towers grinning high upon the mountains that reached together to make a narrow pass.

Thus they had come to the Morannon, the Black Gate of Mordor. Fiyero saw that the mountains on either side of the Gate were honey-combed with pits, caves and maggot-holes, all of them buzzing like bee-hives, full of orcs. From some of the grunting conversation he heard between the other orcs (more like arguing in their harsh, foul language), Fiyero guessed that they were going to war.

What were they thinking, he thought. Had Aragorn and Gandalf totally lost their minds to order a march on Mordor's front gate? But then it came to his mind. He remembered what Elrond had said almost a year ago.

"The Ring was made in the Fires of Mount Doom, only there can it be unmade."

Slowly it became clear to Fiyero's mind what had occurred. Helm's Deep, Minas Tirith, Pelennor Fields, it had all been a diversion. They had openly opposed Mordor, but only for the purpose of keeping his strength in one place, keeping his Eye away from the real battle.

Frodo on his way to Mount Doom.

From what he had gathered, that would be the unmaking of the Enemy and all of his devices.

And so his friends attacked the front gate of the Enemy to make their final stand. It was useless, he saw, for the host that was assembling behind the Morannon was huge. At least five times that number were hidden beneath the hills and in the holes and slag-pits. It was a trap.

And his friends had to take the trap, if only to keep the Enemy distracted long enough for Frodo to finish him off.

Suddenly, an iron hand grabbed him by the back of the neck. He was dragged out of the army, up a high hill and thrown violently to the ground.

"Muzgash!" a hideous, growling voice hissed that made Fiyero's hair stand on end. It reminded him fearfully of Gaahl.

Looking up, he saw that it was an orc. It was the very large Black Uruk that the Mouth had disgraced with front-line duty. He held a broad scimitar in his hand and a fierce look was in his eyes.

"You!" he pointed his sword at Fiyero. "That rat Gorbag killed you back at the tower."

Fiyero knew he was caught.

"Lugburz will pardon me," growled Shagrat. "If I bring another spy to his tower!"

Just then, the orc fell over. Behind him, another orc teetered, holding a blunt hammer with two hands.

"Radbug!" Shagrat said to the other orc. "I rang your scrawny little neck! Another spy?"

The orc threw off its beaked helmet, and Glinda's dirty face appeared.

"Get away from my Fifi!" she said.

Shagrat growled a hideous "reee" sound in defiance and pushed her back down the hill. Then, with sword in hand, he lunged at Fiyero.

The Prince had little with which to defend himself. The Variags had taken his sword and shield, and the hideous orc blade he had was no match for Shagrat's strength.

Nonetheless, he fought on.

The only alternative being death.

* * *

><p>The icy feeling that once enveloped Elphaba was gone.<p>

Now it was a great inferno of heat. She dared not raise her head to see what it was, for the fire was so great that she dared not approach it. The fear of being burned alive was too great.

Though the icy-cold of the Nazgul was gone, the fear did not subside.

"So," a voice spoke in her mind. "You have come to me, as I knew you would. All evil things come to Mordor."

"I'm not your servant!" she shouted out, though it seemed as though it were at nothing. She did not look up, for fear of the fiery inferno above.

"You heeded my voice," the Lord of the Ring's thought spoke in her mind. "You came to me when I called you. I daresay, well done."

She was not defeated. Even weak and emaciated, having served as a puppet of the enemy made her resolute. Every fiber of her being, every ounce of instinct, every bit of courage she had, told her one thing: resist.

Slowly, as if in answer to her resistance, she dared hope, the fire began to die. The heat faded away, so much that Elphaba dared look up to see what had happened.

She was up on the summit of the tower of Barad-dur itself: the highest level of the Dark Tower. Many spires it had, small, sharp and made of adamantine steel. But above all these rose two great spires, as tall as the statues of the Argonath, they seemed in her eyes. Positioned between those great spires was a whirlwind of a firestorm. In the middle of that storm there hovered the Lidless Red Eye of Mordor: the Eye of Sauron.

But the fire was dying down: or maybe it was being sucked away into that abysmal crack in the world that was the slit-pupil. Into the void...

The Eye disappeared, and the black hole came down to a throne at the top of a great sweeping pyramid that sat at the middle of the two spires. The hole began to contort, and to take on a shape of its own. Tall it was, taller than any man ever had been. It was clad in black armor and black was its cape. The helmet there was not, and the face was burned black as by fire, and cracked and dried up like barren earth. Two fiery eyes, like the one on the Tower, glared lidlessly from its face. In its right hand, it held the Grimmerie.

It was then that Elphaba noticed that there were only four fingers on the right hand. The one Isildur took would never grow back.

"You know not what you possess," Sauron spoke, looking at the Grimmerie. "All the knowledge of sorcery and ring-lore of the smiths of Eregion, brought in secret to Mordor, stolen by the Blue Wizards in their voyage to the East. They shall pay." The face then turned to her, and she could feel those eyes penetrating almost into her very soul.

If she believed she had one.

"You are my servant, Elphaba." he said again. "Every battle you survived, every obstacle you've overcome in your whole life: don't think that it was out of any skill of your own. My hand brought you through, so that you would return, at last, to me."

"Why?" she responded.

"Power I have," he said. "But greater power I shall have once I have the Ring. You know where it is. Return it to me, and I shall make you my trusted servant, my right hand, greater than the Lord of the Nazgul ever was!"

Now was the moment of truth. The evil that had once guided her through Mordor now screamed for her to say so. She had gathered as much, seeing the signs: Cirith Ungol, the discarded orc gear and pans. It was plain and simple, just tell the truth.

She exhaled and then spoke at last.

"I would rather die."

"So be it." Sauron returned. He held out a gloved hand and Elphaba saw a flash of green light, and her sword appear upon the throne. She ran to grab it, but saw that now Sauron had a great mace in his hand, which he swung at her. She barely missed it, feeling the force of a cyclone pass over her head as it missed her by no more than a hair's breath.

She ran for the throne, jumping just in time to avoid a heavy mace-hit that shattered a small spire of the tower. The sword closed around her fingers. Another whoosh was heard, and Elphaba rolled aside to barely miss a mace-slam that took out the throne. However, she found that something was digging persistently into her side.

Feeling, she discovered that her glass-phial was still stowed away beneath her clothing. It had not been taken from her.

Another blow came for her, and she lept out of the way, still clutching onto the phial. It was now out of her dress, held firmly in her green hand, and was shining brighter than the sun.

As his master before him, Sauron could barely look upon the Light of the Silmaril that Earendil took with him into the west, and was blinded. At this, Elphaba attacked with her sword. The Elvish blade shattered in a dozen burning shards upon striking the black, burning body of the Dark Lord.

She barely had time to push herself back to avoid being struck by the huge mace.

* * *

><p>Glinda looked up at the top of the hill, and saw Fiyero doing battle with the large orc. She had to help him...somehow.<p>

But the wound in her side was taking its toll on her. It took everything she got to keep moving on, and for a minute she wavered. What reason was there to keep going? Even if she made the top, what would it matter? Elphaba was lost, no way to find her or know where she meant. And here they were, caught on a hill overlooking a pit of boiling lava on one side and a host of orcs on the other.

Even worse, she heard the screeches of the Nazgul in the air. All hope abandoned her.

Above, Fiyero's guard slackened for a split second while the screeches of the Nazgul rent the air.

It was enough.

With a roar, Shagrat thrust his blade into Fiyero's stomach. The poisoned orc-blade cut through the steel-rings, through the cloth, and tore through flesh.

A groan of pain escaped Fiyero's lips, but Glinda shrieked in shock.

How could it be? Fiyero had let his guard down and now he was wounded? Impossible.

With the blade still in his foe's stomach, Shagrat growled mockingly in the human's face.

Summoning every last ounce of her strength, she ran up the rest of the way up the hill. Shagrat turned a mocking grin at the newcomer, but saw no fear in her eyes, only rage. She gave the orc a strong push, considering it was much larger than she was, and the orc tripped on a loose rock at the edge of the hill and tumbled down into the pit below. A hideous, acrid stench of burning orc-flesh rose up from the pit.

As though fate or something was smiling upon Glinda, giving her some semblance of hope, the icy-cold fear brought on by the Nazgul subsided. There were now other cries echoing from above.

Daring to look up she saw, just beneath the reek of clouds, over the other side of the Morannon, the flying Nazgul fighting giant eagles. The enemy were losing as well, for the eagles were no foul corruption of Sauron's, but true creatures of the world, allies with the army that fought the Enemy as she stood there.

Hope did not betray: instead, luck played her hand again.

Glinda, musing on what this could be, turned her head idly towards the east, and saw in the distance the tower of Barad-dur, the fortress of Mordor. A flash of white light shone from its summit.

Like the light of a star.

Glinda's heart leaped with joy as she saw that sign. Against all odds, she could now dare to hope the impossible.

Elphaba may yet be alive.

Turning back to the northwest, she called out for the eagles, waving her hands wildly. But who was she kidding? She was a small speck, almost invisible by the black rocks behind her. She noticed she was still wearing the filthy orc armor. If the eagles saw her, they'd take her for an orc and it would be too late once they noticed their fault. With disgust she shed the armor, now clad in only her blue robe and Elvish cloak.

Still, she was secluded on this small hill. She had to get to higher ground.

They had to get to higher ground.

She ran over to Fiyero, he was now lying on the ground, Shagrat's blade still sticking out of his stomach.

"Come on!" she shouted, picking up Fiyero's arm and throwing it around her shoulders. "We've got to get higher up!"

Fiyero said nothing, but he was so heavy that he could not move.

Desperation filled the little blond's body with a fire she had never felt before. She seized the flimsy orc armor and ripped it apart, thereby lightening Fiyero's weight a little. Then she stood up, his arm around her shoulder, and she started making a slow trudge towards the top.

Fiyero's body felt like dead weight. He was not even moving.

"We've got to keep moving!" she begged, trying hard to keep pulling him while the way got steeper.

"I...I can't!" he sighed wearily.

"Don't say that!" she cried, hot tears welling up in her eyes. "You've got to make it, Fiyero! Elphie needs our help!"

"Tell Elphaba..." he sighed again, sounding distant in his voice. "I'm sorry."

"Now you listen to me, Fiyero Tiggular!" she shouted, her voice breaking with anger and with the strain of carrying someone heavier than she. "You are not dying on me! We're getting to the top of this hill and we're going to call down those eagles. And then we're going to rescue Elphie, and we are going to survive this war. Now move your ass!"

She struggled, now on her hands and knees, with Fiyero almost lying on top of her. Blood was dripping down her back from his wound, and the strain had reopened the wound of her own. They were both now bleeding. Her eyes became blurry, she could barely see the top.

* * *

><p>Elphaba was getting tired. Sauron, a being of immense power, hadn't even broken a sweat: if he could sweat. She was starting to think that, maybe, this was what it was like for Gandalf to fight that Balrog in Moria.<p>

She feared that she might have to die as well in order to kill it.

But it could not die, at least not yet.

That filled her aching heart with even greater dread.

She ran over to the book, snatching it up.

"Kill me!" she shouted. "I'm done running. Kill me, get it over with."

The Dark Lord walked menacingly towards her, fiery eyes gazing hatefully down at her. She felt suddenly small, like a child coming face-to-face with a Tiger.

"We could have ruled the worlds." he said ruefully.

An iron-clad fist rose to strike her down.

Then suddenly, the mace fell to the floor of the tower. The very foundations of Barad-dur were shaking.

"What trickery is this?" Sauron said, his voice rising in fear.

Daring to open her eyes, Elphaba saw lines of fire tracing themselves across Sauron's face and body, and through the cracks in his armor.

"The fools!" he shouted defiantly. "To throw away such... power!"

There was a deafening explosion.

Elphaba was pushed backwards.

Off the tower.

Sauron may not have dealt the killing blow.

But he had killed her in the end.

Elphaba closed her eyes and smiled, imagining that she was defying gravity once again.

Only now she knew that she wasn't.

There would be a fall in the end.

It would kill her.

She felt like she was flying.

It seemed to take forever for her to fall.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Horay for epic cliff-hangers! Does Elphaba die? Will Glinda and Fiyero survive their wounds? Will they save their friend in time? Get ready for the big finale!)<strong>

**(And, since LGF had the Grimmerie be an Elvish book, I expounded upon that. It is written in the script of Eregion, the Ring-smith Elves who forged the Three Elvish rings. Sauron steals the knowledge of ring-lore and other sorcery and puts it into the book, which he then uses to forge the Dwarven, Human and the One Ring. How it gets to Oz, however, is another story for another time)  
><strong>


	8. Return of the King

**(AN: Here is the closing action, the chance for Glinda Upland to show her quality. Didn't want to leave you hanging now, did I? It's a little short, though. Read on)**

* * *

><p><strong>Return of the King<strong>

The eagles came in time.

A large one landed on a spire of rock just a few ways away.

"What is this?" the Eagle spoke. So there were talking Animals in this world, Glinda thought. "I have never seen your kind before."

"I'm a stranger, but a friend to all Animals, even Eagles." she said. "I need your help! My friend is over there..." She pointed towards Barad-dur. "Please, carry us over there and save her before something bad happens."

The Eagle lowered its huge neck, and Glinda climbed on its shoulders, pulling Fiyero after him.

They flew across the great leagues of Mordor, the Enemy below them far out of bow-shot. A low boom suddenly filled the sky, just as they were coming in close to the Dark Tower.

Glinda suddenly gasped. She saw a small blue-green speck fall off the tower.

"There she is!" she cried out. "Grab her! Don't let her fall!"

The Eagle soared in, snatching the falling speck in its talons and then flew off, just as three other Eagles passed them by, soaring towards Orodruin, a flash of white light appearing on the back of one of them.

They had at last returned to the camp of the armies of the West upon the slag-mounds at the mouth of the Morannon. Behind them, the very mountains of Mordor were crumbling and the hordes of orcs were running wild, their master having lost control of them.

"Glinda!" cried Aragorn. The blond all but fell off the Eagle, falling into the arms of her fair Elvish prince-ling. Despite her affection for him, she noticed that Aragorn had changed drastically. The ragged, dirty old ranger was gone, replaced with an aged yet handsome king returned to his own. He was a sight indeed.

"What happened?" Glinda asked.

"We've won!" he said, a smile on his bearded face. "The realm of Sauron is ended!"

She smiled, though not having fully realized why.

"He's hurt!" cried out Imrahil, who was, with Elladan and Gimli, helping Fiyero off of the Eagle.

Her heart sank as she came to Fiyero's side, seeing the half-dead form of her former love.

"No!" she cried, cradling his head in her arms. He could not die, he just couldn't.

She was so engrossed with trying to will him back to life, she did not notice the green, skeletal form of Elphaba that was deposited at her side by the Eagle.

"Please, Fiyero." she begged. "You can't die on us. Please! You've got to pull through."

She felt inside her a strange sensation, as if she were suddenly sensing something that was always there, but always just beyond her perception. It was close at hand, choking her almost as much as the tears were doing. It had to be let out, and she knew exactly how.

A warm glow appeared over her hand that held Fiyero's head. In amazement, she removed the hand and raised it up. Some of the glow then departed, and came to rest in Fiyero's side.

The prince let out a sudden gasp for breath.

Glinda exploded into tears upon seeing Fiyero still alive, and almost made her magic useless by smothering him in a huge hug.

A gentle tap on the shoulder drew her attention.

"Your friend is barely alive." Aragorn said.

She turned to Elphaba, and was about ready to break down again. She had never seen her this emaciated, even when she was on the run from the Wizard. If Fiyero looked half-dead, Elphaba looked like death itself.

"Please, don't die." she said to her friend. "I can't live without you."

The hand then came to rest on her shoulder.

"Allow me, Glinda." Aragorn said. "I shall not fail."

She nodded.

From out of his belt he pulled out the last few leaves of _athelas_ that he had, all dried and half-worthless. These he crushed between his fingers and placed over Elphaba's forehead. Before Glinda's eyes, she saw the healing magic of the Heir of Elendil at work. The leaves disappeared, and Elphaba's pale-green complexion became a little bit darker.

"'The hands of the King are healing hands.'" Imrahil quoted.

Glinda paused out from exhaustion, or perhaps her wounds had finally gotten to her as well.

* * *

><p>Elphaba awoke in a warm bed of white sheets. Half of her wondered if she were dead, and if so, where she would be? Not Heaven, that was reserved for those who believed in the Unnamed God. But she was here, and she should have been dead. What could this mean? Maybe it was all a dream: the most frightening dream she had ever experienced, and the most amazing as well.<p>

But, looking down upon herself, she saw that she was indeed thinner than she had been before. At her right-hand side, she saw, still lying asleep, was Fiyero. He looked a bit thinner himself, though not as unhealthily so as she did. There were scratches and a few cuts on his body that were starting to heal up, and his stomach was tied with white bandages.

She smiled. He was still alive, for his forehead was warm when she slid her green hand onto it. Gently, so as to not disturb his sleep, she planted a kiss on his forehead. It was good to be back with him again. She laid back on the bed, staring up at a stone ceiling and wondering where she had been, when suddenly a hand hit her.

Looking to her left, she saw Glinda was half-asleep as well. Her long blond hair was strewn about her pillow, the hard work she had done on her curls now came to nothing.

The wee blond then opened her eyes slightly.

"Elphie?" she asked.

"Glinda, you're awake?" asked the green woman.

Suddenly, Elphaba saw the small blond grab onto her and plant a kiss on her lips. Elphaba pulled back in shock, but the little blond fell into an embrace.

"I've missed you so terribly," she sighed. "I miss you so much I feel like kissing you again."

"Well, don't." Elphaba said. "What would Fiyero think if he woke up and saw you kissing me?"

She made a silly noise, but still held Elphaba tightly in her embrace.

"Did we do it?" Glinda asked.

Elphaba didn't know what to say. What did they do? The memories slowly faded back into her mind, the battle on the tower, the prison of Barad-dur, falling off the summit...throwing away such power.

Then it hit her.

She was herself again. No longer did she feel the presence of the Ring, or felt any compulsion to gaze eastward, longing for it. The "great power" that Sauron spoke of as he was shattered at last was the Power of the Ring, and he called them foolish for throwing away that which he never imagined they would ever seek to destroy.

"We did it." Elphaba said, patting the blond's head.

* * *

><p>A few days later, the three Ozians were assembled at the courtyard of Minas Tirith along with a great multitude, witnessing the coronation of Elessar Telcontar, whom they knew as Aragorn and Strider, as King of Gondor. They three were clad in clean robes: Elphaba in a simple yet elegant black dress of Gondorian-make, Glinda in a fair, white Elvish garment (for Elrond of Rivendell and his folk had come to the coronation as well), and Fiyero in a rather dapper-looking suit of Rohirrim armor, better than that which he had at Pelennor Fields.<p>

There were several tears among the two women, both of whom greatly admired Aragorn. As for Fiyero, he tried to pretend that it was the wind in his eyes that made them red and puffy, though Elphaba knew better.

At the door of the citadel, Faramir came forth with a black cushion, upon which sat a winged crown. This he presented to Gandalf, who placed it on the head of the kneeling King Elessar.

"Now come the days of the King!" Gandalf announced. "And may they be blessed, as long as the thrones of the Valar endure."

Elessar then rose and turned to the people, who were applauding him greatly.

"This day does not belong to one man," he began. "But to all. Let us, together, rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace."

Once more there was applause, which slowly died down as Elessar began singing an ancient song in Sindarin.

"It's a prayer," she said. "The first words Elendil said when he landed on this world."

"How do you know this?" Glinda whispered.

"I heard Aragorn singing it, before you came here." she whispered back.

Fiyero, meanwhile, was looking out upon the crowd. From out of a great distance, he recalled over-hearing, quite by accident, while he was trying to sleep, a voice speak these words:

"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze."

Looking up at the citadel, Fiyero saw the tower, shining undaunted now even as it had during the storm of Mordor. All about the keel the banners of Gondor were arrayed, flying high in the morning breeze.

There was more, but he could not force himself to remember it. The speaker was dead, and his wish would never be fulfilled.

Or would it?

Though it would be considered a terrible breach of etiquette, Fiyero walked over to the high-helmed Tower Guards, who stood about the White Tree, which now bloomed with silver blossoms, and gave out a great cry.

"The King of Gondor has returned!"

"Behold the King!" Faramir took up the call, pointing to Elessar.

All cried out in joy, greeting the King with gladness.

Elphaba who had heard what Boromir said that night in Lothlorien, was smiling at Fiyero's gesture.

Glinda, who had spent more time with Faramir and knew of how close the two were, sobbed a little in remembrance.

Elessar then walked down from the gates of the citadel and greeted his companions. At last he came before Elrond, and saw who was with him.

And so it was that King Elessar and Arwen Undomiel were reunited, the tale of their long waiting and labors come to fulfillment.

Then, hand in hand, the King and his Queen approached the four Halflings. Behind them came their companions: chiefly those of the Fellowship such as Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Elphaba, Fiyero and Glinda. Various others, such as Eomer King of Rohan, Faramir, Lord of Ithilien and his bride-to-be the Lady Eowyn, as well as Elladan and Elrohir, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and the many Elves and lords of men gathered with them.

In respect, the little Hobbits bowed before these great people, especially before "King Strider" as Pippin and Merry had taken to calling him unofficially.

"My friends," Elessar said. "You bow to no one."

At this, all those present upon the tower bowed. Even the Ozians bowed, for they knew just how much these four had done and sacrificed for the salvation of Middle-Earth.

Elphaba could see the stub of Frodo's finger where the creature Gollum bit off the Ring.

Bowing was the least she could do.

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><p><strong>(AN: Hope you liked it so far. Sorry, Randall Graves, but there will be no Gelphie "suck-fest" to be the "logical closure-point" of this fan-fiction. I've already had two endings, I need one more to get our heroes out of Middle-Earth [those who saw Clerks 2 know what I'm talking about! Those who didn't, just be cool, its a stupid joke]. We're almost done. Just one more chapter)<strong>


	9. Another Journey

**(AN: At last, we have come to the end. "Our fateful trip is done." I finished this listening to Annie Lennox's "Into the West." Enjoy)**

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><p><strong>Another Journey<strong>

Many glad days followed afterwards, during which the Ozians were permitted to join Elessar as he sat at court. The midsummer festival came, at which the King and Queen were wed, as well as the Lord and Lady of Ithilien. There was much dancing and feasting, and Elphaba and Fiyero could not part for all the gold in Erebor (or so Gimli said).

Glinda, meanwhile, was looking for the one who gave her the promise.

Legolas she found standing upon a wall of the city, looking listfully out into the west.

"You said you'd come find me when this was all over." she said, getting his attention.

"So I did." he replied. Though Glinda saw that there was something a little more serious about his tone.

"What becomes of us now?" she said, joining him as they looked out at the sunset. Though, due to the season, the sun would be up again in a few hours time.

"I believe Mithrandir...Gandalf...told you about the Elves love for the sea."

She nodded.

Legolas spoke slowly, as though he were remembering a great sorrow.

"You do not know what happened to us after he took you to Gondor, do you?"

She shook her head 'no.'

Legolas then began retelling to her everything that had happened after Gandalf had left with Glinda and Pippin. He told of the full account of the Paths of the Dead, and the terrors of the Vale of Erech, and how they routed the Corsair fleet with the Army of the Dead.

"After we rescued Pelargir from the men of Umbar," he said. "Elessar dismissed the Army of the Dead."

"Bad idea, I said." Gimli interrupted, approaching just in time to find a point he felt needed clarification. "I told 'em they were rather handy in a tight-spot, despite the fact they were dead."

"But even a King is bound to honor the Oath of ages past." Legolas said. "He released them as promised and they vanished into the darkness...to the Halls of Mandos."

Gimli sighed and walked off mumbling.

"Elessar then rallied the armies of Gondor and told them to set sail for Harlond, the portage near Minas Tirith. It was there that..."

"What?" Glinda asked.

"I heard the cry of sea-gulls."

She did not say anything, for she recalled what Gandalf had said.

"My heart shall no longer rest beneath the forest, for the sea calls me home."

"Will you go over to the Undying Lands?" she asked.

"Not yet." he said. "Gimli has asked that I stay with him until he is ready to depart. Then we shall go together, as friends."

"And what about us?"

"What does your heart tell you?"

Glinda thought on what he meant, and she could not believe what she was saying.

"That my place is with my friends, who came from my world."

"Then I must bid you farewell." He planted a kiss on her cheek, and she felt a slight flush arise where he had kissed her.

She was sad, though not the same kind of sad as before. She was more or less pouty that she couldn't get with the dreamy, handsome Elf-prince.

That was more of a correct feeling.

She had felt sadness before, in Mordor. And this feeling was anything but sad.

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><p>Many more days followed, and it was decided that, at last, the Hobbits would head home for the Shire. They were called to the Court of Elessar, where he bade them farewell and told them that they were always welcome in his lands. The Ozians then came in afterwards.<p>

"My friends," the King began. "We have passed through many dangers and withstood many trials. You all have impressed me greatly. I would that you stay with us for a time, though I feel that you would wish to seek some way to return to your own world."

"Not Fiyero and I." Elphaba said. "We're outlawed there."

"I do miss home." Glinda said.

"Then we shall look for a way to send you home." Elessar then walked down off of the throne and stood before Glinda, the Mins Tirith-stone in his hand.

"Fear not." he said. "The Enemy is destroyed, he cannot look through the Ithil-stone. They are safe once again."

Glinda put her hands trembling on the _palantir_, expecting to feel pain or something once again.

But there was silence for a great while.

At length, she removed her hands and sighed. Opening her eyes, she noticed something new about Elessar.

The silver pendant that he wore about his neck often was different. It looked cracked, and the center-piece stone was green rather than silvery white.

"I saw an inland sea." she said. "There was a gate there."

"That is your road." Elessar said, returning to the throne.

"My lord," Elphaba said to Elessar a little awkwardly. "We, Fiyero and I, have something we'd like to announce."

He waved his hand to give them leave.

"Well," she began. "We're not going back to our home, but neither can we stay here. We've both decided that there are other places we could visit, and that is where we are going."

"We can have you outfitted for the journey at once." Elessar said.

"There is more." she added.

Once again, the King gave them permission.

"We," Elphaba said nervously, clenching Fiyero's hand tightly. "Well, uh, that is...to say...I...am, well..." She turned a shade of purple.

"She is with child." Gandalf revealed with a smile.

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><p>At last the day came when the Fellowship was at last to depart. The Halflings would make their way home with the procession that would bury Theoden in Rohan along with many of their friends and those who came for Elessar's coronation. The Ozians, meanwhile, would be going east, in search of the gate that sat upon the edge of the Sea of Rhun.<p>

Elrond had brought over their old clothes from their world, which they received along with the new ones they had. Their old clothes which they wore into Mordor were so terribly ruined that they were little more than keepsakes. Elphaba had with her the Grimmerie alone, for the glass-phial fell when Barad-dur was broken. Glinda still wore upon her neck the token of Legolas, and Fiyero had been given the sword that Elessar used before he took up Anduril.

The Fellowship was arrayed together one last time, and the Ozians bade them farewell.

"Farewell, Calenwen." Gandalf said, embracing Elphaba.

"You never told me why you called me that name." she said.

"When I came back, I went to Lothlorien, and the Lady Galadriel told me." They both smiled and he laughed. She noticed that he laughed more easily than before.

She bowed before Elessar, who bade her raise her head high.

"You helped me realize that my place was here," he said. "For that, I am forever grateful."

Arwen nodded her head. "May the memory of Elfstone and Evenstar go with you, Calenwen."

Looking at the brooch upon Elessar's chest, she wondered if that green-stone had been there since before, or if it had been put there on her account.

Legolas gave a short bow, and Gimli matched that with an even lower bow that swept the floor with his beard.

She knelt down at Frodo's side.

"We owe you so much." she said. "How can I ever repay you?"

"You owe me nothing," Frodo said. "We all did this together."

Sam sang a little song, but then got embarrassed and hid his face. The younger Hobbits both almost tackled Elphaba with hugs.

"We'll surely miss you." Pippin said.

"Don't forget us, please." Merry added.

"I won't." Elphaba said.

This done, she waited as Fiyero and Glinda made their way down the line.

Farewells completed, the three then walked off into the distance, laden with their new gear, towards the now bright and snow-capped Ephel Duath.

* * *

><p>They walked as far as Osgiliath, where they saw the Bridge had been repaired. This they walked over and came at last to the eastern side. They made the slow trek northward, along the river. Though the Mountains of Mordor had been cleansed, neither of them wanted to look back in memory of that horrible land anymore.<p>

They passed the Morannon without even so much as a sideways glance, and at last found themselves on the edge of the Dead Marshes. While they were musing as their next course of action, Elphaba saw a black shape on the horizon. A loud neigh rent the still air of the Marshes and a black horse rode towards them.

"Nessa!" Elphaba cried. The horse that Fiyero had let free in Ithilien had wandered into the Dagorlad plains, where it roamed free and unharmed, evading what enemies came that way. At last, upon smelling the scent of her master, she came at last to the reunion.

"Look, Elphie." Glinda said. "Nessa's come back to you."

Elphaba was teary-eyed, for she knew what Glinda meant by this, and wished that it were so.

"So," Fiyero suddenly said. "Which way do we go now?"

Glinda hopped onto the horse behind Elphaba and pointed north-east.

The four figures vanished into the barren plains of the Dagorlad, making their way ever towards the Sea of Rhun.

The war was over, another journey had begun.

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><p><strong>(At last, it is done! I would like to thank LittleGreenFae for giving me permission to complete the tale. I felt it was epic enough, and I hope you enjoyed it too. There is the possibility of a sequel, though if I do make one, it won't be in Middle-Earth. I want to know if you loved this enough, and I might make a sequel. This is my longest fan-fiction to date. Review, tell me what you think of it, etc.)<strong>


	10. The Way Back

**(AN: [9.7.11] Originally posted as a one-off, I've decided to reinstate this portion as a full chapter of the story _Another Journey_.)  
><strong>

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><p><strong>The Way Back<strong>

Many weeks had passed since the three had left the city of Minas Tirith on their voyage into the East. At the plains of Dagorlad, just east of the Dead Marshes, they found Elphaba's horse Nessarose, now free, who joined their company willingly.

After they passed the barren grasslands of the Dagorlad, the earth having long ago eaten up the dead there (though not in the Dead Marshes, the southern-most end of the Dagorlad), the land became grass-less and arid. It seemed that they were walking off into a desert that had no end.

On their first night in the desert of Rhovanion, the three Ozians had set up a small camp-fire in a dell that was somewhat protected from the wind and blowing sand. Nessa stood off to one side of their "camp", which was little more than two bed-rolls and their camp-fire. Elphaba sat on Fiyero's lap, while Glinda had her own bed-roll, closer to Nessarose. They were enjoying a little bit of their provisions which King Elessar had kindly given them. It was good, wholesome food, the best stuff they had had in many months.

Almost a year, in truth.

Fiyero was trying to get Elphaba to eat more.

"No, Yero. I'm fine." she said, for the tenth time.

"But you're too thin," he returned.

"He's right," Glinda added. "You looked like a skeleton when we rescued you from the Dark Tower. Besides, you're going to be a mother soon. You need to at least get your figure back."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, smiling, and conceded to Fiyero's request.

"So, where exactly are we going?" Fiyero asked Glinda.

"I'm not sure." she said. "The King gave me a map, but I can't make much of it."

"Mind if I take a look at it?" he asked.

She gave the leather map to Fiyero, who spread it out before the fire. Not too close that stray sparks could set it on fire, but close enough that it could be read in the darkness of the night that encroached about them.

"From what I see here," he said, after a few seconds of silence. "We found Nessa about here..." He pointed at a place where the 'Dead Marshes' became 'Dagorlad'. "It's been a week since then, so I'm guessing that we're probably..." His finger trailed from that location off into the middle of a big blank spot that was somewhere between Dagorlad and the mountains on the western shore of the Inland Sea of Rhun.

"I didn't know you were so good with maps, Yero." Elphaba said.

"I bet that's not the only thing you didn't know I was good at, Fae." he added with a smirk. She gave him a playful push.

Fiyero then gave out a deep sigh.

"I think I'll turn in for the night." he stretched himself out on the bed-roll that was actually two that served both Fiyero and Elphaba. Elphaba leaned down and began checking out the map, with Glinda at her side.

"So," the little blond said. "We're in the middle of nowhere-land Rhovanion, right?"

Elphaba nodded.

"How many more days until we reach the Sea?"

"Four days, I think." she said. "Two days to the mountains and another two to find a way across or around them."

Glinda nodded in understanding. She then saw Elphaba steal a glance southward, towards a line of distant mountains that, somewhere, far beyond the horizon, made a line of gray hills.

"I thought you were done with that Ring, Elphie." Glinda said.

"I am," she replied. "It's just...well, I've been thinking about what happened, that day on the Tower. He said that all evil comes to him, that I was just being a tool in his great scheme."

"Elphie..."

"What if he was right?" Elphaba asked. "In Oz, it was nothing but inaction. I ran from one problem to another, and when I disappeared, nothing changed. My life helped no one, nor did my 'death' do anything else."

"Elphie..."

"And then I come here and promise myself to do good, and what do I do? I end up walking into Mordor willingly, just being a pawn of evil."

"Elphie, stop saying that!" Glinda said a little sharply. "When you were unconscious, when we were in the Houses of Healing, I spoke a little with Gandalf and the King and the little Hobbits. They told me you were the greatest warrior they had in their army: they told me all about Helm's Deep and Pelennor Fields. Elphie, to them, you're a hero."

"The Good Witch of the West." Elphaba said with sarcasm.

"Frungo said you kept Sauron's Eye away from Mount Doom when the Ring was destroyed." she added. "He didn't know anything until it was too late."

The little woman put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"See? You've done famously, Elphie. You should be proud of yourself."

The green woman smiled to her companion, though she did not feel very proud at the moment.

She was still pondering the penultimate words of the Dark Lord of Mordor.

"We could have ruled the worlds."

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><p>The journey through the desert was uneventful on the first day. But upon the second day, the land suddenly gave way, entering into what appeared to be a shallow canyon: more of a basin, a depression in the earth. Hither they went, carefully making their way down the slopes of the basin as slowly and safely as possible.<p>

"Strange," Fiyero mused, once they had safely made their way down the walls of the basin. "This basin isn't on any of the maps I could find."

"I wonder why." Elphaba asked.

"Has nobody come this far?" Glinda asked.

"It is said the Blue Wizards came this way," Elphaba responded. "At least, that's what Gandalf told me."

"Did they ever come back?" was Fiyero's question.

"No."

An uneasy silence followed, as they stared across the eastern desert, which now seemed bleak and unfriendly: as if ready to swallow them up without a moment's notice or a second thought.

"We should go north-east now." Elphaba said at last.

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

The sun was not yet in the noon-day sky when the travelers saw a small group of mountains rising up out of the basin. Furthermore, the arid desert turned to a light scrub, similar to that upon the fields of Rohan. The hot, dry air, also became cooler and more moist.

"What did I tell you?" Elphaba said triumphantly.

All three of them then lept onto Nessa's back and took off towards the mountains.

They would be home before nightfall.

The day was now coming to an end. They reached the slopes of the nearest mountain, with the sounds of a giant lake splashing against the shore beyond. It was comforting to hear such a pleasant, peaceful sound after weeks of traveling through the desert.

"Now we need to find the gateway." Glinda said, as they started clambering up the side of the hill.

"Holler if you see anything." Fiyero suggested.

But there wasn't much in regards to gateways that was prevalent upon the surface. However, there was not one of them who thought that it would be otherwise.

"Hey!" Elphaba suddenly called out.

Fiyero and Glinda ran over to where Elphaba stood, Nessa standing behind her.

"Did you find it?" Glinda asked.

"Not exactly." was the response. "I found this cave." She indicated to a huge opening in the side of the cliff that stood before her. "It's magical, that's for sure. I can sense it: my magic is much closer here than usual."

"I feel it too." Glinda added.

Elphaba turned to look at her wee friend. "Since when have you been adept at magic?"

"Since I came here and saved Fifi from a fatal wound, Elphie." She sassed.

The green woman shook her head.

"So?" Fiyero asked at last. "Do we go in?"

It was somehow silently agreed among them all exactly what they would do.

The cave was just tall enough for Nessa to walk through unhindered. It was also just wide enough for all of them to walk roughly abreast with Nessa behind. They walked onward, through the deep, long cavern that soon engulfed them in darkness. The tunnel wound about, but it did not branch off in one direction, or split up or drop down or up. It was simply going forward.

Gradually they got the sensation that they were going downhill.

A soft, golden light was permeating from the end of the tunnel.

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><p><strong>(AN: And THAT brings <em>Another Journey<em> to a semi-solid conclusion...oh, who am I kidding, its a cliffhanger if ever there was one! Maybe this will get you to reading _The Witch's Saga_. It's half-way decent, so maybe you should. lol)**


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